


A Sorta Fairytale

by Arnica



Series: Blocking your own shot [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnica/pseuds/Arnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen has bent over backwards to arrange her entire wedding around the yearly lull in the Rift, but no one told that to the breeding pair of Nostrovites running through Cardiff. Now her hen night's been disrupted, her wedding is in shambles, and fixing it is going to drive every one of them insane but at least the Rift is on vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“You're sure you don't mind Jack?” Yelling from the bunker makes his voice boom, something that amuses Indiana to no end if the giggles coming from overhead are any indication. The cement room underneath the office has changed since Jack moved out, bed shuffled off to the dark far corner on the other side of the ladder, nightstands and steamer trunk long settled into their new places at the house while a high table with pair of bar stools against the back wall take their place. The cut glass lamps that used to sit next to the bed and beside the wardrobe are settled in the library at home now, replaced by boring black pole lights that give the bunker a sharp industrial feel.

 

The built in private bath has made it the new favorite on-duty room though and it's a great place to get changed when the girls have taken over every single inch of the communal showers. The full length mirror bolted to the cement walls is a new addition, regardless of what he's been implying to Owen just to watch the other man go faintly green, and Ianto pauses in front of it, checking the collar on his shirt and the angle of his hat before tilting his head back and grinning up through the manhole. Jack and Indiana are standing over the hole, looking down in on him. Indy squeals, flinging his arms down as Ianto starts up the ladder.

 

“Da!” He clears the bunker and takes his son with a grin as the boy attempts to pitch headfirst out of Jack's grip to get to Ianto.

 

“Indy!” His son giggles with glee as Ianto whips him up into the air with a roar before tucking him sideways under his arm because there's nothing better than being hurled around then carried sideways like luggage as far as his one year old is concerned. “Really though, are you _sure_ you don't mind getting saddled with the Hub _and_ the offspring?”

 

“We're fine. We're going to sit here doing reports and reading the fuzzy duckling or something equally as awful for the next four hours until the last peak hits, set the big countdown clock and then go home to wait for you two to drag yourselves in, hopefully drunk and lewd.”

 

“We'll do our best on that one.” Indiana laughs as Ianto spins on his heel fast enough to have the boy's huge floppy curls whip around. “Come on you, let's go find mummy.”

 

Cheyenne and Gwen are down in the locker room, makeup and jewelry sprawled across the counters as they lean in against the long counter to finish prepping in the wall length mirror.

 

“Hope you're naked because we're coming in!” Jack announces cheerfully as they sweep into the locker room. They aren't naked, but they're both beautiful. Gwen's flushed and bright eyed with excitement, round eyes made larger by the thick slash of black liner and long fluttering lashes ringing them. It's bolder than she normally wears and Ianto's pretty sure Cheyenne had to do the younger woman's makeup because he can see Gwen trembling with excitement from here.

 

“Oh, sorry for you Jack, we had a tumble in the showers earlier and you missed it.”

 

“You're a terrible person to say that to me Gwen Cooper.” Jack crosses the off-white tiles of the locker room floor, lifting Gwen's hands in his and spinning her once to look her over while she giggles. “Last time I'm going to call you that. Next time you come back it's going to be as Mrs. Williams.” He grins widely, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You're my first Torchwood bride in almost forty years, you know.”

 

“I'd _really_ like it if you told me that wasn't because the last wedding was so terrible that everyone's been too scared to do it since.” She's staring up at him earnestly, wincing as he laughs.

 

“It was, actually, that terrible but that's an entirely different, very long story and I _promise_ I won't burst in and arrest you for insubordination and crimes against the state in the middle of your vows.”

 

“Oh _no_.”

 

“Wait, you arrested someone or they arrested _you_? Never mind, I'm going to have to hear that one later because I know you and it's going to take at least half an hour for this.” Cheyenne has been perched on the counter, letting Indiana grip onto her fingers and stomp around to the music pounding out of her phone in an approximation of dancing while she swings her feet, strappy heels dangling from the tips of her toes.

 

“Well, if my girls have done their jobs right we'll be too pissed for you to listen to one of Jack's long involved stories when you get home.” Gwen tugs away from Jack, spinning around him to wrap her hands around Indiana's waist, lifting him over her head and laughing as he sinks both his hands into her hair and yanks it roughly until he's close enough to give her a wide slobbery kiss. “Auntie Gwen's getting _married_!”

 

“Gen 'eeeed!”

 

“Good enough! Aren't you _done_ yet Cheyenne?” The older woman's leaning into the mirror again, checking her reflection one last time because it's an act of God to pull her away from the mirror in less than forty minutes. “We've got to _go_ early before the rift alarm decides to...” Gwen's voice trails off as the blue siren light mounted in the center of the ceiling begins to spin. “Never mind.”

 

“Oh, it's fine,” Chy doesn't even look away from the mirror, touching up her lip gloss where she smudged it kissing her son. “It's probably just debris.”

 

***

 

It's not just debris. It's in fact an alien that's already left a body on the ground when it chased a man out into traffic and is now leading them on a long, frustrating footrace through the tube stations and back alleys of Cardiff as Cheyenne coordinates from the Hub.

 

“Don't take Clydarch, Jack, go up to Cymmer because Gwen and Ianto are driving it _north_.”

 

“Trust me, it won't stay that way. There's too many tempting alleys to duck down. It'll come back down south and we're going to make sure of that. Ianto, get on the 119 side of Llanbradach. Gwen, make room for it to double back past you and start driving it towards us.” It's a three pronged pinch, great for driving weevils into position and less so when chasing something apparently much smarter. Gwen drops back, circling around down a side alley and by the time she jumps back out onto the quiet street the tall blond they've been running down is gone and she quickly tucks her gun behind her back as she spots the older gentlemen letting himself out of his house and slowly climbing down the stairs.

 

“I've lost him!” She's panting lightly, scanning the street. “Cheyenne, you don't see anything?”

 

“Yeah I do. According to Mainframe it's right there in the middle of the damn street so unless it's invisible which it...could be? Jack, y'all aren't chasing invisible monsters are you, because if you are I'm calling Owen back in off the body retrieval. Invisible means at _least_ one of you will take an ass kicking.”

 

“It's _not_ invisible.” Jack sounds frustrated across the line. “Gwen, what's around you?”

 

“Nothing! It's me and an old man heading south down the sidewalk!” He's pretty spry for a guy his size, feet shuffling over the sidewalk as he walks away. “There's no sign of him anywhere, Jack.”

 

“Then get that civilian off the street before he becomes a hostage.”

 

“Or a snack. Tosh and Owen just got back with the body and there are _bite_ marks in it. Whatever the Hell this thing is, it eats people.” Which is perfect, really, because Gwen has just been dying to be eaten less than eighteen hours before she's supposed to get married. “Also, it's moving south at a creep so it may be stalking your old man. Get your gun up, lady. Jack, take Ianto's position and Ianto move in on Gwen.” Over the coms Jack starts to snap out an order and Cheyenne's voice just gets louder. “ _One_ of us is a fucking Map God who can watch every one of you moving from any angle and one of us is on the ground where you can see your damn feet. Move in on Gwen. If you two are quick enough the three of you should be able to hem it in before it gets out to the damn highway.”

 

“Okay, you heard the Map God. Ianto, move in on Gwen.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Gwen, get that slow moving snack off the sidewalk before this thing tries to attack again.” She wonders if he's deaf because the man doesn't turn when she calls out. She rolls her eyes, dropping her weapon to the side and jogging down the street.

 

“Come on luv, let's get you off the street. You'll just have to miss bingo tonight.” She's within arms’ reach, has actually stretched her hand out to touch him on the shoulder when he spins in place, mouth gaped open in a horror show hiss of ichor stained teeth. His eyes are red, vividly so, as it hisses out a snarl. “Shite!” She's firing before she thinks, three slugs to the chest rocking the alien back as she scrambles backwards on the heels of her boots, firing into the dark as the alien snarls at her and disappears off into the night, trailing black blood behind itself.

 

“Gwen!” They're all calling her name over the pounding of her heart.

 

“I'm fine.” Her voice shakes and she clears her throat once. “I'm fine but it's a bloody shapeshifter! He's heading for the highway trailing black blood.” Up and down the streets lights are flipping on, curtains being nudged aside and doors starting to creak open. Gwen yanks her badge out of her jacket with a curse, holding it over her heads. “Special forces! Back into your homes, for your safety and protection!”

 

“I see it!” Ianto's voice crackles across the line as Gwen chases down the line of blood spatter. “I've got a figure, probably male, approximately six even running across the 119 like the traffic isn't even there. Fuck!” There's a loud whipping gust of wind across the line and a sharp sudden blast of a horn that Gwen can hear echoing up through the alleys. “He almost got himself flattened by a bloody lorry. He's heading south east towards the park and I can't catch a break in traffic to get across. I'm stuck on the traffic island!”

 

“Keep waiting for a break across. I'll head for the nearest southern light.” Jack's not even winded, the bastard, and his voice crackles clearly over the line. “Gwen, head for the 119, aim for the north end of the park when you get across.”

 

“Okay, Tosh is hacking the streetlights to make a break in traffic. You should both be good to cross by the time you hit the highway,” Cheyenne tells them. Gwen's gun is digging into the small of her back as she runs and the highway has indeed been brought to a stop. When she looks down the stretch of road she can see the heels of Ianto's shadow disappearing into the darkness and a flash of Jack's coat further down than that. They're twats up at her end, cars edging so close together that Gwen bumps into the first before planting her boots on the closest bumper and heaving herself up, badge already in hand as the horns start to blurt.

 

“Get off my damn car!”

 

“Official business, now shut up!” She flashes her badge, stomps the hood for good measure just to hear the driver curse her and jumps down on the other side of the road, taking off at a run in the vaguely diagonal direction of the park.

 

“Fuck, the last of the rift fallout just half-life'd! I can't track the damn thing another fucking foot. He was heading for the center of the park when the trail dropped.” Cheyenne's nails clatter against the keys. “Tosh is pulling coverage on the surrounding CCTV cams now. Oh, and lucky Gwen, _your_ side of the park is picklepark.” Excellent, because Gwen really wanted to spend her hen night rousting the trollers and cruisers from the bushes and loos before a shape shifting man-eating alien gets a hold of them.

 

“Fantastic, cocks everywhere and pissed off rent-boys; exactly what I like with my aliens.” The line is quiet for a moment. “Huh, thought Jack would have jumped right in on that one.”

 

“I can't make _all_ the cheap trashy jokes, I have to save _some_ of them for Owen.” The man laughs over the coms.

 

“Oh, sorry, I was busy working around my broken arm to _do my job_ , but by all means let me jump right in to point out how that sounds like a Wednesday for Jack.” She can hear Owen smirking. Off to her left there's a rustling and Gwen pulls her gun but keeps it tucked along the side of her body out of sight, taking out her long barreled flashlight and turning it on.

 

“Right Gents, normally I don't like breaking up the party, but there's an animal loose and it's already attacked two people. Let's put it away and move on, yeah?” The kid on the ground scowls up at her in annoyance as the man he was just blowing scurries away from the beam of light.

 

“What the fuck, he didn't even pay me yet!”

 

“Well pet, if you're not getting paid first you're still new enough to this that you might listen when I tell you there's safer ways to make your cash. On your feet, there's some kind of wild mutant dog running around...”

 

“Oh, you're _them_. Yeah, fine, whatever.” The kid stands up and thankfully he's older than he looked with the light angled forwards on him instead of beaming straight down. He tugs out a phone and fires off a quick text as he mutters angrily. “Mutant dogs is the best you've got? Bloody fucking Torchwood, some of us have rent to make...” Over the coms Jack's cursing in annoyance and Cheyenne laughs as the kid wanders off sulkily.

 

The next three stops Gwen peers into are empty, obviously the kid sent some kind of warning ahead and Gwen's bored by the time she makes it to the sixth empty trysting spot.

 

“Are we _sure_ it's still in the park?”

 

“Yep, trace showed it run in, cameras haven't shown it exiting anywhere.”

 

She's in the far corner where the streetlights don't always come back on after they flicker out when she hears a man's voice.

 

“All alone? Quick, through here.”

 

“Yeah, not tonight. Move it along please.” She's already started to turn her back to head further up the path and it's only the speed of the thing, the violence of it's lunge shaking the bushes loudly that warns Gwen in time. He's sacked her before she's done more than start to turn, the two of them crashing violently to the ground. The alien is snapping and going for her throat as she screams, throwing her empty gun hand up between her throat and those black dripping teeth. Her gun is lost somewhere in the grass but she's still got the Maglite clenched tightly in her right hand and she swings it as hard as she can when the red-eyed thing above her sinks it's scalpel sharp teeth into the top of her forearm. It drops her arm with a howl when she brings the heavy barrel of the torch down onto the base of its skull with a crack that makes her stomach turn. A spray of ichor and her own blood splashes from it's mouth across her face as it howls. “Ugh!” She's scrambling for her gun, her own blood flowing hot over her skin while the thing over her rears back to strike when it jerks, toppling over off her in a rain of gunfire.

 

Ianto and Jack come across the grass towards her and Gwen thinks blood loss and relief at not being eaten might be making her giddy because she's overly amused by the way they're stalking perfectly in step with each other towards her.

 

“Alright you, let's get that arm looked at before you lose too much blood to go out drinking tonight.” Ianto breaks out of step to cut across the grass, leaving Jack to keep on the sidewalk towards the body sprawled against a chain link fence separating the wooded area from the football field.

 

“I'd better not!” Ianto groans in annoyance and takes off the black on black jacket he's wearing, wrapping it around her arm and gripping the wound tightly enough to make her suck in a sharp breath through her teeth as he raises her arm over her head.

 

“Sorry. Owen, Gwen took a bite to the top of her left forearm. I've got pressure on it and it's elevated but I can't tell in the dark if you're going to need to stitch it or not.”

 

“Damn it.” The giddiness is gone, leaving a pounding heart, a throbbing alien bite, and lots of disgust. “I made it all damn week without a mark on me and now the very night before my wedding I get _bitten_ by an alien! I'm gonna have a great big bloody set of stitches up and down my arm in my wedding photos!”

 

“I'll use white thread for the occasion,” Owen snips over the rattle of him thumping around in the Hub.

 

“I'll stop by the bridal shop tomorrow after I drop off Indy at nursery school and get you some gloves. Fingerless summer weight ones, no one will even notice you've got stitches,” Cheyenne soothes over the coms. On the other side of the walkway Jack's wrestling the corpse into one of the ultra-thin puncture proof body bags he tucked into the inside pocket of his great coat back in the SUV. He heaves it over his shoulder with a grunt and Gwen glowers at the shadowed imprint of the monster's face through the mostly opaque plastic as the bite throbs with every pump of her heart.

 

“Okay, I'm going to drop this thing out of sight in that last set of bathrooms back there and throw up some police tape until we can bring the truck around. Gwen, guard the corpse; Ianto, grab the flash light and start putting up markers where we need cleanup. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

 

The bathrooms aren't too far and if Gwen props the door open and leans directly in the center of the doorjamb she can keep an eye on the body bag slumped in the corner while staying in sight of Ianto, sweeping across the grass and sidewalks with his own heavy torch, stopping every so often to stick one or more of the little reflective plastic flags in the ground. Some days she barely remembers to put an extra clip on and somehow Ianto always remembers to grab a handful of evidence markers and bags before they get out of the truck.

 

“So, a man eater twelve hours before the Rift is due to go 'dormant'? I'm starting to think you were all lying to me about a week off every year.” She's leaning against wall, using her shoulder to nudge her headset on since she's still using one hand to apply pressure and keeping the other stuck in the air.

 

“Gwen, last year there was apparently a major time and space paradox event almost directly on top of the Rift. It's not like that all the time. I promise that under no other circumstances would Jack ever give _anyone_ two weeks’ time away.” She sees Ianto stand up and run his hands through his hair from across the grass as he huffs into the coms.

 

“Take my word for it Gwen.” Jack's in the SUV and they can hear the idling of the engine under the low croon of the radio. “Tomorrow at four seventeen in the afternoon all Rift activity is going to flat line for the next week. Just in time for Owen and I to shut everything down, transfer the first response protocols to my setup at home and make it up there in time for the open bar.”

 

“We're not having an open bar Jack.”

 

“You should, I pay you well enough for an open bar. I'm going to have to stop by a cash point now.” A flash of headlights appears off through the trees as Jack comes in through the park gates, ignoring the wide paths and taking the vehicle up over the grass until it's pulled up idling next to Gwen leaning out of the dirty men's room. “ All right you, in the truck. Let's get you stitched up and out the door before you miss your entire night out.”

 

***

 

Three hours later and the Hub is humming along quietly, Owen puttering around down on the work floor keeping an eye on the Rift monitor as Jack keeps an eye on Indiana sprawled across the couch cushions with that battered blue pteranadon Gwen ordered almost a year ago dangling over the arm and watching Jack with a beady glass eye while he forces himself to finish up the last of the outstanding paperwork. He's taken seven paper cuts, all of which closed faster than they could bleed which had no bearing on the fact that they hurt far out of proportion to their size and he desperately wants to just sign his name to every place with a blank line and call it good except that Owen has a bad habit of throwing PTO forms, expense account verifications, and anything else he might have cut corners on at Jack when he thinks the boss isn't paying attention to the paperwork. So, Jack grits his teeth, rubs his eyes to clear them and goes back to scanning the pages on his desk before his eyes start slipping back towards the couch.

 

Indy's taking up an enormous amount of space for someone so small. He's got one hand thrown up across the arm of the couch so that the stuffed animal dangles out into the air, the other hand under his face with his thumb jammed in his mouth. He's listed to the side with one fat bare leg drawn up under him and the other sprawled wide enough that his foot hangs out into mid air. The blanket Jack's already put over him twice is back on the floor, kicked off a third time and this time he lets it stay there. Mostly he has daughters scattered across the decades but there have been sons too and he remembers his boys being hot blooded in the same way, never under the covers no matter how often he tucked them around tiny shoulders.

 

Owen comes up the stairs, leaning into the office door. He's got his arm with the cast on it up in his sling which means at some point the medic has jarred it hard enough to actually follow his own rules about properly supporting healing limbs.

 

“You don't actually have to keep him here until the last peak hits, you know. I'm more than qualified to sit on the couch downstairs playing video games waiting for an energy exchange so I can right click and save the sat images of what's pretty much lightning if you want to get the kid home before it gets too late.”

 

“He's fine. That boy has yet to meet a place he can't sleep. I've only got another two things to scan through, no reason not to finish it now.” He drops his pen on top of the papers anyway, leaning back and looking at Owen. “Decided to hold off on your autopsy?”

 

“Yeah well, it works better with two hands.” Owen wiggles the tips of his fingers from the end of his cast as he yanks the visitor's chair back from Jack's desk, slumping down into it as the captain lifts his pen again with a sigh. “Since that's not an option, I'll wait until tomorrow and have you crack the heavy bones for me while we're waiting for the count down. It gives me a legit excuse to skip the ceremony.” Jack looks up from Tosh's tiny handwriting and lifts one brow.

 

“I think Gwen was hoping you'd change your mind.”

 

“Because Gwen wouldn't think about how awkward it would be to have the man she had an affair with watching her get married until the last minute and then it would be a _thing_ when it doesn't need to be. So, no. I won't be going to Gwen's wedding.” Owen grins at him and pushes himself to his feet with one hand. “I'll just ride with you to the reception full of bitter and drunk girlfriends, cousins, and former coworkers panicking that they'll never get married. It works out better for everyone that way. Particularly me. Well, if you're fool enough to pass on cutting out early then I will. It's just about midnight and I can find a better bed than mine for the night if I get moving soon.” He jingles his keys and then winces, eyeing Indy's still sleeping form guiltily. “Shit. Off then, expect me to be late tomorrow.”

 

“Just go, Owen.” The man grins at him and stops long enough to drape the thin knit blanket back over Indiana as well as he can with one hand before disappearing out of the door. The Hub is on night mode so the siren lights flash when the airlock rolls open but the sound pipes directly into Jack's ear piece and just like that it's just Jack, the wild life, and Indy who has managed to already kick the blanket back onto the floor. On the corner of the desk Jack's phone buzzes and he reaches for it with a grin. He's been getting texts since Gwen and Cheyenne climbed into the back of the cab and they've come progressively faster as the number of shot glasses and bottle littering the tables in the background has increased. So far he's gotten stills of Cheyenne and Gwen laughing and mugging for the lens, short clips of Gwen wide eyed and squealing in the lap of a laughing dancer, and a dark video of Ianto doing a row of body shots off a blonde with fluffy angel wings spread out on the bar under her.

 

_::jsut had best idea evr! Am moving gwen party and rhys party to SAME CLUB! Ianto is doing shots off angles &i want too. If you see us losing clothes in pics call & tell us to come hoem. xxxxxxxxooox::_

 

He dials her number with a smirk, thumping his feet up on the edge of the desk as he presses the phone to his face. He braces himself for the roar of sound and still flinches back from the heavy distorted roar of bass thumping out of a wall of speakers and across the phone lines.

 

“Sweetheart, you're already misspelling your texts. You're already drunk.” She laughs into his ear, a giddy peal that ends in a snort.

 

“Of course I'm _drunk_! I better be drunk, cause I drank a _lot_ of tequila in the last three hours. Also, I am wearing the most _godawful_ tacky pink cowboy hat with these plastic feathers hot glued to them. They're...people are actually _wearing_ these and they've got me doing it too. Did I show you this pink hat?”

 

“You were wearing it in the shot of that stripper carrying you to the bar.”

 

“Tall people were in my way and I wanted a drink. Besides he just wanted to show off. Young guys _love_ picking me up, it makes them feel like he-man; like there's something impressive about being able to carry me around, I'm not exactly very big. They should carry _you_ around for a while. _That_ would be impressive.” He turns, catching his reflection in the darkened glass behind himself and rolling his eyes.

 

“Are you saying I'm fat?”

 

“Um...I'm pretty sure not, but I'm a little bit drunk so maybe? I don't fucking know, but you aren't and you know it! Look, the boys are here, and there's like thirty of them! There, see that's an _actual_ small party! Gwen's only got, like, seven people here. So I'm gonna go cause the boys are here and we're gonna keep partying. Call me back in an hour and make sure I'm not too drunk, okay?” She laughs along with him as he shakes his head.

 

“I can do that. Go have fun.”

 

“I am! Put the blanket back on Indy, cause he's kicked it off by now, and I'll talk to you in an hour! I love you, kisses, bye!” The roar of sound disappears as she disconnects the line and Jack settles his phone in his pocket with a chuckle and gets up, rolling the discarded blanket and tucking it against the boy to keep him from rolling off the couch while Jack runs down to do a last check on the weevils.

His kingdom is well settled, Janet's back a barely visible lump in her nest and the two little ones are curled around each other with two identical, only slightly mauled teddy bears that have Jack rolling his eyes because at the rate his team keeps babying the pair, they're never going to get rid of the little weevils. They roll over as a pair, perfectly in sync and Jack has to admit to himself that he hasn't exactly been breaking his back to find them a new colony. The rest of the cells are thankfully empty and Jack lets himself wander all the way down to the dock to make sure the sea access is properly locked down and the Sea Queen moored tightly before making his way back upwards. A quick peek on the monitors shows Indiana exactly where he was left, Myfanwy settling down in her aerie and the screens show a sharp peaking in electrical activity a mile and a half offshore where the Rift is about to spit it's last weak sign of life before it begins balancing itself so perfectly that there will be no positive or negative movement for an entire one hundred and sixty-eight hours before it begins moving again.

 

It's five minutes of watching an electrical current be created by negatively charged rift particles intertwining with the wet positively charged ions in Earth's atmosphere, sending ladders of stepped lightning back and forth through otherwise thin fair weather clouds. He saves the satellite footage then snaps and prints the best shots of the cloud to cloud strikes to show Stephen because his grandson still thinks that Jack is awesome and that high def pictures of things like Rift lightning and atmospheric exchanges are cool. The Hub shuts down with a hum under his fingers as Jack makes his way back towards his office. There are still three reports on his desk but none of them have Owen's handwriting anywhere on them so Jack just signs his name anywhere the line is blank and throws his coat on. Indy's diaper bag hangs right under it and Jack tucks the folder with the glossy photos inside the front pocket. Indiana doesn't wake when he's lifted, just snorts once around the thumb still firmly latched between his teeth, hits Jack in the face with a blue dinosaur in an attempt to tuck it under his fat little cheek and then sleeps all the way down to the garage and into his car seat. The door to Jack's truck always slams, heavy with the same thick armor plating he has in the official Torchwood vehicle and the boy in the back has gotten used to the heavy sound, rolling his head away from it with a frown and a snort.

 

The dogs are waiting just inside the door as soon as it opens and while the fat brown one chuffs in disgust and plods off, as unimpressed by Jack as Jack is by him, the fluffy black one drops right to his stomach, belly crawling slowly across the floor in his direction.

 

“No. Go away you obnoxious, wrinkled, little wolf. I'm _not_ touching you.” Lucifer does not go away. He follows Jack all the way up the stairs and into the nursery, flopping down with a huff at the foot of the cot and watching out of shiny black eyes as Jack wiggles the baby's floppy sleeping body out of tiny jeans and into a fresh diaper before plopping him down into his bed. “Okay, he's down, you saw it happen. Get out.” Lucifer does not get out. He wiggles faster than Jack can react, squirming under the crib and dog grins up at Jack in triumph, tail hitting the wall hard enough that he can hear it. “Damn it. I'm not coming under there after you, but if I catch you trying to jump into that cot again I will kill you and tell Cheyenne you ran away.”

 

The dog is laughing at him as he turns on the night light and leaves.

 

There are leftover egg rolls in the fridge and Jack eats two cold from the box while he digs the spinach out from the back of the crisper along with the carrots. The remote from the entertainment center is on the counter separating the family room from the kitchen and he snags it, flicking the stereo on as he dumps the veg in the sink under running water and digs the juicer from the far back of the cupboard. In the living room Beelzebub looks up from his bed under the window and snorts.

 

“Shut up or go outside.” He's swapped his Torchwood com for a bluetooth and he thumbs through his contacts with one hand until he's found the number he wants and sends three cars out to the address where Gwen, Ianto and Cheyenne's GPS have all pinged from with instructions to wait and deliver the bride and groom to their respective flops for the night before bringing his own partiers back home.

 

By the time the security system beeps in his ear to let him know someone is coming up the drive, Jack's run a veritable fruit salad through the juicer to try and hide the spinach that went in first and has two tumblers full of unfortunately green but otherwise delicious juice set out next to a handful of vitamins and aspirin. The brown dog is already on his feet, matching Jack step for step to the front door and planting himself solidly in the open doorway as soon as Jack's through it, eyes locked on the black rental idling at the bottom of the stairs. The music is jarringly loud as the driver rolls down his window, giving Jack a quick grin.

 

“Captain.”

 

“Guiff.” The marooned former spacer tips him a quick wink when Jack slides a folded bill to him as they shake hands. “How's business?”

 

“Profitable. The ground-bound pay _stupid_ amounts for a fast ride in anything that's shiny and black or red. You might want to knock before you open that door back there.” He gestures over his shoulder towards the smoked glass divider. “They were in a _pretty_ good mood when they tumbled in downtown.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Ianto's in the floorboards of the vehicle when Jack eases the door open, feathery pink cowboy hat tilted forward on his head and glittery white wings stretched tight around his shoulders as he rubs at the small foot in his hands. He blinks up at the interior light before turning to Jack and laughing drunkenly.

 

“Hey, we're home! When did we get home?” Cheyenne lets her eyes flutter open and looks back and forth between her foot in Ianto's hands and Ianto in confusion.

 

“I can't be home yet, my feet still hurt.” Jack snorts and Chy looks up at him in surprise. “Oh, we are home! Baby, I lost my shoes!” Ianto flails backwards as she yanks her foot out of his grip and kicks it out in Jack's general direction. “Somewhere between that last bottle of tequila and the car they just...fucked off!”

 

“Congratulations.” She beams up at him and Jack scoops her out of the car with a sigh, hopping back as fast as he can to keep Ianto from spilling them all across the driveway like dominoes when he flops out onto the ground, laughing like a loon. “All right, let's go.” There's body shimmer and glitter smudged across both of them and it's glittering in the light from the open door as Ianto shuffles far enough back from the car that it can go before flopping back over and giggling.

 

“I'm, um, I'm pretty drunk Jack.”

 

“I guessed that all on my own when I saw you'd robbed a stripper.” Ianto's eyes are very wide before he scrunches his brow in confusion, pushing unsteadily to his feet and spinning in a slow circle while looking over his shoulders, reaching up to touch the small fake feather and tinsel combination.

 

“Wait, I...I think...did I steal the wings off a stripper?”

 

“A fine question I've asked myself more than once. Yes, you did.”

 

In his arms, Chy snorts in amusement and wiggles closer, nuzzling at his throat.

 

“You smell _awesome_.” The gloss on her lips catches stickily against the skin on the underside of his jaw. “Get me somewhere flat; I'm gonna fuck you till I can't walk.”

 

“You already can't walk!” Ianto snickers, arms ever so slightly extended as he stumbles alongside them inside.

 

“I don't need to walk to fuck, smartie.” Her nails are raking over the sweet spot at the nape of Jack's neck as she giggles breathily in his ear. “You don't even _know_ how wasted I am. I am totally considering doing you both on these, um, stone things we're going up that I really _do_ know the word for.”

 

“Stairs?”

 

“Yes!” Her breath in his ear is going directly to his cock because even when they're so intoxicated that Jack should really just pour them both into bed with a stomach full of juice and vitamins their girl knows exactly how to get his attention. She's squirming against him, sharp little teeth nipping at the edge of his ear as he herds Ianto up the last stair and kicks the front door shut behind himself.

 

“I know I said drunk and lewd, but that's a terrible idea baby. The last time we did that you limped for two days and glared for three.” He stumbles when Ianto latches onto him from behind, one hand pawing the hem of Jack's shirt free to slide wide and hot against the flat slope of his stomach, the other sliding across his jaw and angling his head back far enough for Ianto to lick his way past Jack's teeth with a hum of pleasure; grinding leisurely against Jack while Cheyenne squirms her way down his body until she's got her feet on the cold stone floor.

 

“Come on then!” Her fingers are hooked into Jack's belt loops and the tugging just makes room for Ianto to squirm his hand down the front of Jack's slacks, gun callouses a sharp sweet bolt of pleasure as the younger man wraps his hand around the girth of Jack's cock, thumb going right for the head to drag exactly the way he likes it around the crown. “Upstairs.”

 

The fact that they make it up the stairs to the master bedroom before anyone falls over is no thanks to Ianto and Cheyenne who don't seem to be able to go more than five feet at a time without stopping to wiggle and yank each other out of another item of clothing. Chy tumbles backwards onto the bed with a laugh, one teal stocking still carefully in place around her thigh and the pink hat firmly back on her own head, everything else spread through the house in a trail that Jack's going to have to pick up later. Ianto's managed to yank Jack's shirts up far enough to tangle them around his neck and the immortal man is still trying to unwrap them from each other and get them over his head when devious, drunk Ianto decides to shove him down onto the bed as well. They're tugging on his clothes, fumbling over braces and yanking at buttons until his arms and head come free at once and Chy's throwing the wadded up twists of cotton over her shoulder victoriously. There's still cherry flavored gloss on the edges of her lips and she tastes like pie filling and tequila when she kisses him.

 

Wiggling out of the too tight wings was either unimportant or just required more coordination than Ianto had because he's unbuttoned his shirt and just let it hang loose around him, twisted at the collar where it's rolled around the elastic. He's crawled up the length of the bed and has flopped down on his stomach, head pillowed on his arm as he strokes the line of her hip lazily.

 

“You're passing out.”

 

“No 'm not. C'mere.” Jack props himself up on his elbows with a smirk, watching Cheyenne flop over and shimmy across the bed to Ianto when he tugs insistently on her ankles. Laid out flat on a soft bed the night is catching up with them and he rolls his eyes, sliding off the bed and into his pants.

 

“Don't wait on me, I'll be right back.” He peeks in the nursery on his way to the kitchen stairs and glares at Lucifer who's got his wrinkled face shoved hard against the bars where Indy's got a fist full of fur. “I'm not rescuing you.” The curled tail thumps twice and he rolls his eyes, leaving the door cracked so the dog can let itself out when it's tired of being yanked on. The light in the center of the kitchen above the island is still on and he swaps the two slightly warm bottles of water for fresh ones from the fridge, hissing as he cradles them in the crook of his elbow against his bare torso to make room in his hands for both half full tumblers of juice and the loose handful of vitamins and painkillers. He should have put his trousers back on because Jack would kill for his pockets right now, trying to keep the cold slick water bottles from sliding out of the crook of his arm as he jogs back up the stairs, pausing long enough to stick his foot through the railing and kick the light switch. He's been gone about three minutes and he figures he's got a fifty-fifty shot of the two of them being awake by the time he hits the door.

 

They're out cold, Cheyenne's thumb tucked between her lips and one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, Ianto sprawled across the entire middle of the bed with his head pillowed on the curve of her ass as he snores, stupid little costume wings fluttering every time his back heaves. They don't really wake up, but he does manage to bully them upright long enough to coax them each to swallow a handful of pills and a couple gulps of juice before letting them go back to sleep, although Ianto glares at him from one cracked eyes as soon as he swallows the last of his drink.

 

“Spinach.”

 

“You _can't_ taste that.” Ianto snorts rudely at him, pitching back onto the bed face first before Jack can help untangle him from the twisted grip of his shirt and Jack stares down at the two of them sprawled over the majority of the Californian king and ducks into the closet, tugging on a pair of sweats and heading downstairs to pick up the trail of laundry and watch some tv.


	2. Chapter 2

Ianto wakes up face down across the foot of the bed with a throbbing in his skull that matches the pins and needles pulsing numbness shooting up and down both his arms from whatever is cutting painfully into his shoulders.

 

“Oh my God, Why do I drink tequila?” At the head of the bed something that might be cousin It or a small and shapely yeti but is _probably_ Cheyenne groans dramatically, flailing around in ways that make Ianto's stomach pitch.

 

“Stop or I'm going to be sick and I can't feel my arms.”

 

That's because you're wearing too small stolen stripper wings.” Jack's voice booms gleefully from somewhere above and behind him, hammering through the steady throbbing in his skull. “I tried to get them off you but you tried to kick me. Apparently you can't fly without them.”

 

“You fucking lie.” He doesn't look up from the duvet digging fold imprints into his face because he's pretty sure Jack's not lying. The older man is entirely too happy to be making this up.

 

“I have video.”

 

“You always have video. You and your fucking videos, Jack.” He groans and flexes his biceps. “Come get these things off me, I can't move.” Obviously Jack poured some of his toxic green sludge down their throats last night because while Ianto's muscles are aching and his head is murdering him his stomach is mostly stable. On a one to ten scale he's sitting at a solid six, uncomfortable but functional with shades and a couple painkillers in him. Jack straddles his hips and Ianto hisses as the elastic on wings he ever so faintly remembers a giggling blonde fighting up over his too broad shoulders is pulled even further into his skin. Jack yanks them up enough to slip the blade of his pocket knife between the white elastic band and his shoulders, cutting it in two quick strokes and tossing them to the floor.

 

“Don't do that, the fucking dogs will get them Jack and we'll have feathers everywhere and Magda will quit. She'll leave me and I cannot take it when my housekeepers leave me Jack. I spend two weeks crying into my dirty dishes calling them up and offering them raises to come back. I glare at the temp girls and judge them for not being my _real_ housekeeper. I'm a tyrant, don't make me into that monster!”

 

“Or you could just clean your own house Cheyenne.” He's not in the mood to hear another love song to Magda. He's entirely too hungover to have to think about the housekeeper who kind of creeps him out a bit in the way she acts like there's not anything weird at all about their house.

 

“No I _can't_!” She's wailing and it's too early. “I can't do laundry, and I can't wash my own windows because they get all streaky and remember what happened when I did the dishes?”

 

“Because you can't put washing up liquid in the dishwasher Cheyenne!” And now he's yelling and she's whining and Ianto's pretty sure it isn't quite seven in the morning.

 

“Why would I _know_ that? Stop trying to get me to clean my own house!”

 

“Okay, break it up.” Jack's hands sweep briskly up and down the aching throb of his arms as he leans down, lips pressed to the skin behind Ianto's ear. “We're not getting rid of Magda and I'll pick up the wings.”

 

“No, I got 'em.” Cheyenne slithers off the bed and all Ianto can see are her feet, one bare the other encased in one teal stocking as she pads across the floor. “I hope Gwen has a really good makeup artist because she was just as drunk as I was and I don't remember much between getting on the 114 and right now. She's going to be _haggard_.” The house phone trills sharply and Ianto groans and shoves his face further into the bedding to escape the sound. “That's her right now! You're getting married!” She shrieks into the phone even though Ianto knows it has to be hurting her at least as bad as it does him and Jack grins with his lips pressed to Ianto's shoulder blade.

 

“I can feel you growling. Stop being a bear and...” He goes quiet and alert astride Ianto in a way that makes him scrub his face out of the blankets and look up at Cheyenne. She's frozen in the middle of the floor, fluffy wings dangling from the tips of her fingers, phone pressed to her face as she listens intently.

 

“Okay, wait, stop! I'm putting you on speaker.” Cheyenne sticks the receiver back on the base and hits the round conference style speaker next to the bed. “Okay, what the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I look like I'm pregnant, like huge belly out past my feet bloody pregnant! Look, I'll send you a picture!” Jack's already scrambled off the bed and is sorting through the pile of discarded things on the little padded bench at the foot of the bed by the time Cheyenne's phone starts playing White Wedding. He curses low and shoves the phone into Cheyenne's hand on his way to the closet.

 

“Gwen, Call Owen. Send him that same picture and tell him I want him over there with you right now. Tell him to start everything he can without moving you.” Ianto sits up and scrubs his hands across his eyes, reaching out as Cheyenne thrusts the phone into his hand. On the screen Gwen Cooper stares up at him, wet eyed and as wide as if she were nine months pregnant, feet spread like she can't find her balance holding the broad curve of her stomach and behind him Jack is yelling from the closet. “We'll be there as soon as we can!”

 

 

***

 

“Oh Darlin!” Gwen looks away from Owen who just told her she's pregnantof all the stupid thing to say because she is _not_ pregnant so much as just...infected with something which doesn't sound much better when she thinks about it, so she stops staring blankly through Owen and stares at Cheyenne who's just run through the bedroom door and stopped short. “Oh, _Gwen_.”

 

Owen's tugged the ear buds of his stethoscope out of his ears when the front door slams and Jack comes as far into the doorway as he can before staring at the huge pale swell of her stomach with the exact same horrified sympathy that everyone has been looking at her with.

 

“How are you doing Gwen?” It's even worse hearing it in his voice when all Gwen wants to hear is how they're going to fix this before something burst out of her chest wall or any place else it might be thinking about bursting from.

 

“Jack, will you tell me what's going on? Owen says I'm pregnant!” This is where he's supposed to laugh, or shoot something; instead her boss stares at her like she's an idiot, gesturing over Cheyenne’s head with a scanner that immediately begins beeping.

 

“Ya _think_?” It's satisfying in a shallow kind of way that Cheyenne reaches behind herself, slapping Jack across the shoulder until he flinches away.

 

“Jesus Christ, what with?” Owen starts to rattle off some stupid technical term that Jack talks right over and both of them mean the same impossible thing that she was hoping not to hear.

 

“The alien from last night.” Owen reaches for her again and Gwen cannot take one more second of having the strangely sensitive skin on her stomach touched. She slaps at Owen's hands, swinging her feet off the bed.

 

“Oh, get off!” He pulls her to her feet instead and the fact that she needs him to get her up onto her own feet just makes her more irritable as she slaps his hands again. “Stop!” She stumbles as she goes to stomp away, off balance and ungainly as she shoves Jack out of the way and storms out to the kitchen. Cheyenne's not trying to get in her way at least, heading over to the bed to talk to Owen in low tones while Jack follows Gwen into the kitchen. She's got a monstrous hangover that's left her foul and nauseous and it doesn't seem to care that her body is _screaming_ to be fed. She runs a glass full of water and drinks it as fast as she can, filling it again before Jack wanders slowly into the kitchen behind her. “It _bit_ me. I got bitten, Jack. That's _all_.”

 

“Passed the egg along in its bite. Some species do that; a kind of sneaky way to keep the bloodline going.” Jack grins at her and Gwen sets the glass back into the sink before she gives into the urge to whip it through the air at his face. “Darwin would have had a field day in space.” Behind Jack Cheyenne rolls her eyes and taps his arm, giving him that 'don't be stupid' look that Gwen likes so well.

 

“Gwen, listen, you're going to be fine, I promise, okay?” She wants a pickle. Owen is looking at her earnestly, waving his cast around while they talk and she ignores him, slinging open the fridge door and realizing that the pickle jar is on the bottom shelf and she's not quite sure how to get down that far without falling over. “If there was any biological incompatibility you'd already be dead by now.” Sometimes she secretly thinks Owen should be glad every day that he works for Torchwood because his bedside manner is rubbish if he thinks that's soothing. Teeth gritted against the potential of falling over unexpectedly Gwen grips the top of the fridge door and does the most uncomfortable squat she's even done to yank the jar of pickles out onto the counter. She doesn't fight the small hands that grab her under the bicep, helping her back up because so far Cheyenne is the only other person in the room who seems suitably horrified. “Now, according to this, you're carrying a non-sentient blastopheric mass.” He waves the scanner Jack came into the room with.

 

“A what?!” Whatever it is sounds awful. It sounds as awful as this pickle is delicious. She eats the first one in four big bites, relishing the sharp vinegar tang and wishing she'd stopped to put some salt on it, maybe wrap it in cheese and then put salt on. She reaches back in the icebox and yanks out an entire pack of sliced cheese before taking the salt box out of the cupboard.

 

“It's a kind of alien egg.” Owen's watching her eat with the kind of deeply disgusted face he normally saves for finding Jack and Ianto shagging somewhere. “But don't worry; I'm going to look after you, I promise. We've got protocols in place for just these kinds of situations.”

 

“This has happened before!”

 

“Probably, but _everyone_ has procedures for accidental implantation's.” Cheyenne comes around and leans against the counter next to Gwen, reaching up into the still open cupboard and stealing out an opened sleeve of crackers. “You had to read through and sign off on S.H.I.E.L.D's 'termination of implantation' policy every three years to work for them, women _and_ men.”

 

Perversely, Gwen feels much better knowing that if it had been Ianto bitten he'd be the one the size of a barn eating pickles.

 

“Happens all the time Gwen. All those 'immaculate conceptions' you hear about?” Jack shrugs one shoulder. “It's an easy fix.”

 

“It is.” Jack and Owen are stumbling over each other to reassure her while Cheyenne just leans against the counter, sunglasses _still_ down over her eyes even though the shades are drawn in the living room nibbling on dry soda crackers. “We take you back to the Hub, you lie back, I run the bioxenic settings on the microtron and poof. A few days with your feet up and you're right as rain.”

 

“Woah!” She throws her hands up and Cheyenne flinches. “A couple of _days_? No, I'm walking down the aisle in _five hours_ , Owen!”

 

“No, you're not.” Jack's got his arms crossed and Gwen is thinking quite seriously about clawing his eyes out.

 

“Gwen, I hate to say this but you're going to have to postpone the wedding.”

 

“No. No! Do you have any idea how much this wedding costs?” She's on the verge of tears just thinking about having to rebook every single venue at the last minute. “And how long we'll have to wait to get the same places, and I insured the honeymoon but only for a week in either direction...” It feels like she can't get enough air and Gwen's not sure if it's panic or if the huge alien _egg_ shoved right up in her bloody guts pressing on her lungs, but either way she's trying to suck in as much air as she can without making it obvious. “And what about Rhys?I can't put Rhys through this. He's had to put up  
with enough as it is, okay? Our families are in town as well, what am I supposed to tell them? No, I'm _not_ postponing the wedding!” Cheyenne's rubbing her back, digging her knuckles into the small of Gwen's back where she didn't know it hurt so badly until it started to feel better.

 

“You're not thinking straight...”

 

“Do _not_ bring my hormones into this, Jack Harkness!” He steps back, hands up at shoulder level and behind her Cheyenne sighs and swaps from working her knuckles up and down Gwen's spine to working the heel of her palm back and forth across the small of Gwen's back with a rocking motion.

 

“Quit it. No one's talking her out of this. Owen, you said if it wasn't safe she'd know about it by now right?”

 

“As far as I know, yeah.” Gwen crosses her arms, presses her lips together to keep them from trembling and stares at Jack who's glowering at her and Cheyenne with his hands jammed in his pockets.

 

“So then she's good to get through the ceremony. Ianto, Tosh, and I are going to be right there. We'll get her there, get her married and then get her right back to the Hub.”

 

“But my reception...”

 

“Don't push it, Lady. I'm only on your side because I remember being a bride as well as being nine months pregnant and I'm afraid your head will explode from hysterical stress if you don't get your way on this wedding thing. That doesn't mean I like it. I am going to be watching you like a fucking hawk and the second the pastor says Man and Wife you're going to chuck your bouquet, get in my truck and get back to the Hub to get this egg out, understand me? Your guests will enjoy the reception and we'll save you some cake.” She's outnumbered and the expression on Jack's face makes it obvious that it's the best offer on the table and that he's seconds from vetoing it anyway.

 

“Fine. I'll do whatever I have to do, _after_ the wedding. Once I'm Mrs. Williams.” She reaches up and wipes her eyes before they can go from watery to actually crying. “Not a second before.”

 

“Fine!” Jack throws his arms out with a growl. “But _you_ ,” He jabs a finger in Cheyenne's direction. “Are in charge of making sure this doesn't turn into a cluster fuck.”

 

And because it _will_ be a cluster fuck, the biggest one ever in the history of any wedding anywhere, Gwen lets herself cry the way she's wanted to since she say up in bed this morning and almost fell onto her face from the weight of her creepy alien egg baby gut.

 

“Good job, baby. Impressive.” Cheyenne's got her by the shoulders now, steering her out to slump down on the couch and wrap her arms around Gwen. “Just, please stop upsetting my pregnant bride. Call Ianto, find out what's going on at the Hub, go save the day or something.”

 

“Oh God, I need to call Rhys!” Which is apparently the right thing to say. Jack and Owen disappear back into the bedroom and in minutes they're out again with Owen's travel kit repacked and gathered up in Jack's arms. Jack pauses, opens his mouth and then shuts it again with a shake of his head, pointing to his girlfriend and then Gwen, like she can't see him or something just because she's crying. “Piss _off_ , Jack!” He huffs once and transfers the shoulder bag to his shoulder where it belongs, taking the metal case in the same hand so he can walk over to the couch and ruffle Gwen's hair.

 

“All right then. Good luck Gwen Cooper. Congratulations. Enjoy your wedding.”

 

“Hey Jack,” She scrubs her hands across her eyes. “Is it worse than your wedding yet?”

 

“Nope!” He walks out the door with a laugh and Owen points at her with his broken hand.

 

“This is against medical advice and I'm reserving the right to crash the ceremony in case I have to pull you out early. And you,” He swivels the cast to jab it in the direction of Cheyenne, who's slumped down on the couch with her head resting on the arm as she continues to work the heel of her hand on that magically wonderful spot at the base of Gwen's spine. “Drink some water and get over it.”

 

“Owen, I can be press worthy in thirty minutes, much less upright enough to get a bride to the alter. I've got at least an hour before we can do anything and I was promised that I could get this drunk and then not have to rush to sober up. Let me wallow a bit, please.” Owen stomps off out the door and Gwen scrubs her hands across her eyes, sucking in a shuddering breath.

 

“Sorry...”

 

“Nope, get it out now, because we're going to be hustling all day to make this happen. Once your makeup goes on that's _it_ for the tears.” The older woman's hair is pulled back in a sloppy braid, curls escaping to flop frizzily across Cheyenne's face and she bats them away in annoyance and yanks the sunglasses off her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I'm raiding your medicine cabinet for Advil or something. Also, at some point I'll need to steal your shower because I came straight over unbathed for you, you bitch.”

 

“Oh you princess.” Gwen rolls her eyes. “This is a bad idea, isn't it?”

 

“Honestly, it's a fucking terrible idea, honey. If I thought you'd let me, I'd buy you an entirely new wedding anywhere you want if you'd just go get your alien abortion right now.”

 

“Oh, that's classy.” Gwen slumps down and stares at the unfamiliar curve of flesh blocking her feet from view and she's so glad she let Cheyenne talk her into the two of them skipping lunch last week to go get a pedicure because her shoes have open toes and there's no way she'd be painting them on her own today.

 

“No, no it isn't. Please? I'll arrange everything Gwen. We'll extend your family's stays a couple days, I'll rebook you a new venue, Jack can get the turn around time on a new license expedited and your tickets are insured for a week from now. It's okay to let us do this for you, Gwen. That,” Long pale lavender nails jab in the direction of Gwen's stomach. “Is freaking me out kid. I want it out of you before you get hurt.”

 

“You've been married. Ianto says you married the boy you grew up with. If it were you, would you have canceled your wedding?” She's won and Gwen knows it the minute Cheyenne drops her head in her hands with a groan, sinking her fingers into the thick mass of her hair.

 

“Gwen, I got married as soon as I legally could. I was eighteen and I was stupid in love...”

 

“So am I.” She grins and bumps Cheyenne's knee with her own until the older woman looks at her, soft eyed and smiling ruefully. “I am _stupid_ in love with that man of mine; stupid enough to walk down the aisle like _this_. So? Be honest; would you have canceled your wedding?” The other woman laughs and dashes at her eyes.

 

“Hell no. I would have married my boy barefoot in the middle of the street that day if it was the only way. _Fine_ , you win. You're getting married today! Just don't lie there in Owen's magno-whatever whining when you realize I'm so freaked out I would have given you anything your broken little heart wanted for your redo.”

 

“Anything?” She's joking as she tries not to lose her balance digging in her pajama pockets for her phone.

 

“Too late now; stupid in love and all that shit, remember?” Cheyenne bumps their shoulders together. “I'm using your shower.”

 

“Sure bossy boots, help yourself.” She gives in to the urge to poke the strange mound of her stomach and it's thankfully firm and unidentifiable. “Grab something from the closet if you need it. Not like I'm getting into anything of mine to...oh my God, my dress!” Cheyenne has her by the shoulders before Gwen can do more than let her mouth drop open in dismay.

 

“Okay, You call Rhys, get him over here and explain what's going on. I'll get Ianto to come get me, we'll go get you a new dress and some gloves too.” She hasn't thought about the bandaged bite once this morning.

 

“Ha, I forgot all about that. You're not going to stay and be my moral support?”

 

“What, you mean do I want to be the only other member of Torchwood in the vicinity when you tell Rhys that we accidentally got you alien pregnant the night before you wedding but that it's okay because we did really well the rest of the week keeping you safe? Except for the huge stitched bite that got you pregnant but we got you gloves for that? Thanks, but not a chance, sunshine.” Cheyenne slides off the couch and fishes her phone from the pocket of her slouchy little sundress. “Gonna go call my boy. Call yours.”

 

Gwen watches Cheyenne wander off into the bedroom and sucks in a deep breath, pushing laboriously off the couch to pace back and forth as she dials his number by heart. The phone rings four times, and right before she can give in to the stomach clenching urge to hang up the phone and put it off, even if it's just for a moment, Rhys picks up the phone, trying his damnedest to sound wide awake and competent even though she can hear that his voice is husky with sleep and he's faintly fuzzy headed.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Rhys?” Her voice doesn't wobble, not really, which she thinks is a damn fine accomplishment since she's not sure how she's not already freaking out over the phone line.

 

“Gwen!” The corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile as she hears him trying to wake up quietly. “Morning, lovely. Don't worry, Banana Boat's on the phone to the florist right now.” There's a soft grunt of exertion and faint cursing in the background that makes her think Rhys has probably chucked something at Banana to wake him up. “Checking the, um, button holes.”

 

“No he's not, but tell him to get on it.” She chuckles despite herself as she hears the two of them fumbling around the room trying to get ready while pretending that they've been awake, sober, and ready. “Rhys, I need to see you.”

 

“It's bad luck before the wedding.” She knows he's joking. Of course she knows he's joking and that does nothing to hold back the wet gasping breath as she starts to cry. “What happened?”

 

“Please come home!” He's annoyed now and she can only imagine what that annoyance is going to look like when he actually sees her.

 

“Gwen, are you hurt? Is somebody hurt?!”

 

“No! No, just come _home_!”

 

“Hold on, I'll be right back.” Cheyenne ducks out of the bedroom, hair pushed back and headset in place. It's a relief to let her reach up and take the cordless from Gwen's white knuckle grip. “Rhys, it's Cheyenne. No, she's not hurt. _No one_ is hurt and she's not calling off the wedding either, but Gwen kind of needs you to come home right now. She needs to talk to you. Stop yelling, because I'm not giving her the phone back until you do. Don't wait for a cab, you've got a helper monkey there, have him drop you off but get back here as quickly as possible or you’re going to throw off the whole day's schedule. I already _told_ you she wasn't leaving you at the altar, just get back here please. Gwen, take your phone back, please.” She's gotten her breathing a little more under her control, gasping softly instead of sucking in big gagging breaths trying to fill lungs squished up out of place, and she takes the phone from the older woman as Cheyenne shoves it in Gwen's direction with a scowl before wandering back into the bedroom.

 

“Gwen, lovely? You're making me nervous here.” Rhys' voice is soft and coaxing. “You're okay, really?”

 

“I'm not hurt.” It's a pathetic little sniffle as she slumps back onto the couch. She tries to tuck her knees up and stares at her vanished lap in disgust when she can't.

 

“Right. You've got the car and Banana's in the head but as soon as he's out we're on our way over, okay?”

 

“Okay. Don't let him come up though. Just you.” She hears him sigh deeply.

 

“Yeah. Okay. I'll be right there. I love you Gwen Cooper. I love you and I'm marrying you today, right?”

 

“Right.” She hangs up on his shaky exhaled goodbye and stares down at the cordless phone cradled in her hands. “Probably.”

 

***

 

Ianto's leaning against the Rift monitor trying to look like he's not just hovering nervously waiting for everyone to come in. He sips at the double shot brew in his hands and looks at Tosh who's jabbing at her keyboard distractedly. She flushes when she sees him watching her pretend to work before giving him a half smile and pushing away from the desk.

 

It's just not worth the effort to pretend like they aren't just waiting.

 

When Jack and Owen come through the doorway alone Ianto actually finds himself looking expectantly behind the two of them for a good ten seconds before he realizes they've come back alone.

 

“Well, how is she?” Tosh has her hand on her hip in exasperation as Owen just troops past them without saying anything.

 

“Stupid. She got bitten and caught a case of stupidity along with an alien egg. She's going ahead with the wedding.”

 

“Which is fine,” Jack says despite the fact that his stormy expression says it's anything but. “So long as she doesn't go into labor at the alter. Rhys might forgive her going down the aisle pregnant, but not giving birth to a razor-toothed monster that eats half his family.”

 

“Could that happen?” Ianto lets his left brow creep up skeptically as he looks at Jack.

 

“I don't know, but I should call her back and tell her it will,” Owen growls. “It's a stupid risk. The pregnancy is far advanced and we're not familiar with the species.”

 

“Which is why you, Owen, need to go open up the guy with the teeth. Make sure he doesn't have any more surprises for us. Go get him prepped, I'll be down to give you a hand in a few minutes.” The medic disappears down the stairs at a jog that manages to convey his annoyance impressively. “I'm going to be in the autopsy bay for the next couple of hours cracking heavy bones for gimpy downstairs. Tosh, take over up here. Monitor the readings, make sure they stay in the acceptable range in between whatever you had planned to waste time with today. The Rift should shut down just fine on its own, but after last year let's keep an eye on it just in case. I've left Cheyenne to get Gwen to the church and back again since she thinks it's _such_ a great idea that Gwen gets married today, so Ianto you're running errands.”

 

“I run the errands every day.” Still he reaches up and catches Jack's wallet as the captain wrestles the age curved leather from his back pocket and lobs it through the air, flipping it open and plucking the company card from the left side. “What am I getting?”

 

“Any time in the next fifteen minutes one of them is going to realize Gwen is going to need a new dress.” The corner of Jack's mouth quirks up as he holds his hands out in front of him as a rough gauge of exactly how pregnant Gwen looks. “Bigger.”

 

“Ah. Bigger. I can do that.”

 

He's already behind the wheel of his car, coming out of the public section of the garage when his ear piece plays Chy's ring tone.

 

“A bigger dress, I already know.” He slides his shades back down over his eyes as he joins the queue to get out of the car park.

 

“Because you're smarter than the average bear.” Whatever that means. “Okay, come get me, let's go replace it.”

 

“No, I'm heading to the complete other side of town and you're supposed to be babysitting.” Which is why he's already heading in the opposite direction towards Gwen's flat.

 

“Technically I'm supposed to be wrangling this entire cluster fuck. I'm stretching that definition to include going to get the dress so that I'm not here when Rhys shows up and quite rightfully flips his ever lovin' shit. The way he's apparently already doing on the phone. Dammit, Gwen's crying in the living room. Hold on, I'll be right back.” The mid-morning traffic is thankfully light as he weaves in and out of cars one handed, sipping at the travel mug in his hand and listening to Cheyenne trying to coax Rhys into calming down while Gwen sniffles in the background. “There! See? The _hell_ I'm getting caught in the middle of that fuckery. Also, you can't go get a wedding dress by yourself. You don't really want to be that guy buying a dress for his 'friend' do you?” And just like that all Ianto can see is a montage of David Williams sketches of 'Emily'.

 

“I'm already half way there. Be downstairs.”

 

Cheyenne's waiting at the curb and scrambles into the car as soon as it slows enough for her to grab the handle, yanking the door shut before Ianto's got a chance to stop completely.

 

“No, let's _go_. Rhys is on his way and he was closer than you, so he should be here any second now. I'm serious, you haven't seen Gwen in person. There is no way _anyone_ is stupid enough that we can pull this off, you know.” She's a little pale still and she beams a wide grin at him when he passes his travel mug to her, catching his hand and pressing her lips to the tips of his fingers before taking a deep swallow. “Oh you utterly perfect man.”

 

“Yes, yes I am.” And because he can, he reaches over and tugs at the small spiral curl dangling behind her ear that's escaped her braid. “Okay, so where am I going?”

 

“I've got us an emergency appointment in the city center. Head back downtown.”

 

The bridal store is lit by soft white lights, the music in the background is quiet and classical and a man in a suit almost as nice as Ianto's greets them before they're more than a foot into the door.

 

“Can I assist you today?”

 

“I'm your last minute appointment.” The man beams, grin bright white against his dark skin.

 

“Ms. Sterling.” The man has her hand in his, kissing the air on either side of her face. “It was a pleasure getting your call.”

 

“Aren't you sweet? I'm so glad you could fit me in today. I've got a bride who needs to be re-outfitted last minute. She's pregnant and when she started showing she just shoved her dress in the back of the closet and was going to get married in a white sundress, of all things!” The consultant and Cheyenne share a companionable look at the silliness of the imaginary friend she's describing. “I won't have it, but she's full term so we're going to have to go big and tailor on site.” They're being escorted past the bank of mirrored walls and the thick creme and white swirled carpet and Ianto lags back to watch a girl stare at her reflection under the chandelier as she smooths her hands down over a pristine white sheath while a woman who is mostly likely her mum cries into a handkerchief. They step lightly up a white carpeted staircase and he perches on the edge of the comfortable couch next to Cheyenne and then spends the next forty minutes looking up long enough to see the same brunette sales girl with some kind of stuffed belly in eight different dresses before going back to his phone where he's playing battleship with Tosh. Twice he bites back to urge to point out that if he'd gone alone he would have just used the measurements from the scanner that Jack printed out for him, looked at three, picked the prettiest one, and been out the door at least twenty minutes ago.

 

“All right, we'll take the third one, tea length classic white with the empire waist and the ballet length train in the seventy-two width with the bling in the back. The second pair of shoes and these gloves here.” Cheyenne reaches over, jabbing him in the arm. “Come on, wake from your stupor, we're done.”

 

“I'm not stupefied, I'm working.”

 

“No you aren't. You're playing battleship and Tosh is winning. Come on.” There's a brief and silent battle at the register when she plucks her own card from the slim little case fastened to her keys and sets it down on top of the expenses card that's fought mostly with cocked brows and narrowed eyes before she grudgingly slides her own card back into her wallet and lets Torchwood pick up the tab. Which makes it pretty graceful of her not to so much as smirk as he signs his name with a grimace to the bottom of a receipt with an alarming number of digits to the left side of the decimal point.

 

“Gwen better be happy.” There are strangers helping him load the seven hundred white boxes and bags into the backseat of his car since there's an arsenal under the spare tire in the boot.

 

“Of course she'll be happy. Come on, we'll stop by work and put all this into my car so I can go pick her up and get her up to the venue in time.”

 

***

 

“Bastard Torchwood!” It's going exactly the way Gwen thought it would as Rhys stalks around the flat, tugging at his hair every time he looks in her direction. He doesn't even seem to hear her agreeing with him, stopping by the door to scrub his hands roughly over his face. “Pregnant! You're _pregnant_!”

 

“I'm _sorry_! Out of everything that could have screwed up...” Her voice trails off and Gwen sighs. “I really don't know what else to say.”

 

“You don't have to say anything!” He's red in the face as he roars in her direction loud enough that he apparently startles himself as much as her. They stare silently at each other for one long moment before he turns away from her and runs his hands through his hair again, breathing deeply while her stomach clenches up nauseatingly tight leaving her short of breath until he turns around again and opens his eyes. “Sorry. It's not your fault. It's _them_! It's Jack! It's not like he didn't know you were getting married today! Why the hell did he have to send _you_ out last night?”

 

“Because it's my _job_ , Rhys!” He crosses the room, slumping down into his armchair and digging his knuckles into the corners of his eyes.

 

“Well, are you going to be alright?” His words are gentle, laced with worry as he stares up at her, fingers laced so tightly together that his knuckles are white where they're pressed to his mouth. His eyes are bright when he reaches a hand out for her and she takes it silently, letting him pull her down onto the arm of his chair.

 

“I'll be fine. They'll take me to the Hub. Owen's got this ... uh ... big machine ... thing.” It's hard to describe the super villain microwave shaped Death Ray that's in the middle of a large white room that Gwen is pretty sure is lead lined down on the same level with the incinerator.

 

“Good.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Right.” His shoulders heave as he sucks in a deep breath. “Um, look, I'll ... uh – I’ll get Banana to start ringing people.” Rhys slaps his palms against his thighs the way he does when he's made up his mind to do something he doesn't want to do. “Um, we'll tell everybody you're ill. Uh, appendicitis or something...” She's grabbing for his shoulders before he can push himself to his feet, fingers digging in sharply and shoving him back down as hard as she can.

 

“We're _not_ postponing the wedding. No way!”  
  
“Forget the money! I want you where they can look after you, right?” His voice quivers and that's it for Gwen's composure. She bites back the sniffling but can't keep her eyes from welling over when he wraps his fingers around the point of her chin. “Getting married today doesn't matter.”   
  
“It matters to _me_! Why doesn't anyone get that? It's not about the money, Rhys. I want to marry you! Today. Whatever happens. If the skies are suddenly fill full of spaceships, or an army of weevils climb out of the drains on St. Mary's Street, you fool!” She hits him, slapping the flat of her palm against the curve of his bicep with a sniffle. “Do you not understand what I'm saying, Rhys Williams? All I want to do today is marry you, that's _all_ I want to do.” From the coffee table her mobile begins to chime, and Rhys glowers down at it when Cheyenne's face flashes on the screen.

 

“Whatever it is, tell her to tell the rest of them to go hang.”

 

“I _can't_. She's off getting me a new dress that will fit and then she's in charge of getting me to the Hub as soon as the registrar's done with us.” She laughs a watery laugh. “She was supposed to still be here now but she didn't want to listen to you shouting the roof down so she went to get me a new dress with Ianto.” She thumbs the speaker phone on one handedly. “Hullo?”

 

“Alright, We're on our way back. Rhys is with you now, right? Tell him he's on guard duty. I need to get ready and Tosh is already dressed so we're tapping out. She's going to set up in the bakery on the corner until you leave and then follow the car up. I'll meet you there with the new dress in an hour.” In the background Gwen can hear the low murmur of Ianto's voice. “Ianto says he might be late. He has to stay and help prep the microtron for you.”

 

“I don't need a babysitter, much less three.”

 

“We're not babysitters, we're an honor guard. Unless that thing in you starts fucking up, and then we're bodyguards. Stop whining, because trust me, my first instinct has been to have someone physically in your presence at every moment all day. Now shut up and enjoy that we're trusting your almost husband with the babysitting. I'll be at the hotel in an hour, and your hair and makeup guy will be there about the same time so don't be late getting up there.” Cheyenne hangs up before Gwen can argue, leaving her scowling down at the background on her screen.

 

“She has to go get dressed. She's sending Tosh to watch the building from the bakery down the street.” Rhys grumbles under his breath but doesn't outright protest. “I guess they're trying to give me some space to tell you and my...” She goes pale at the cheerful knock on the door. “Shite, my _parents_!”

 

Rhys is singularly unhelpful as he snickers under his breath, standing up and pressing his lips to her temple.

 

“Well, at least we're getting married today. Can't have Geraint thinking I wouldn't make an honest woman from you.” And she wants to tell him exactly how far he can fuck off but he's already crossed the floor and slung the door open, shaking her father's hand and kissing her mother on the cheek.

 

“I'm so happy for you two! Now where's my daughter? Where is my beautiful bride?” And just like that her mother has come into the living room at the funny little trot she does when she's excited since Gwen has never seen Mary Cooper run for anything less than a broken bone. She pushes herself ungracefully to her feet, glad she doesn't have to figure out how to move around like this much longer and gives her mother a sickly grin as the woman freezes in place, one foot barely resting against the floor and jaw dropped open.

 

“Here I am mummy. Surprise?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Readings are all holding steady and falling at appropriate speeds, Jack.” Ianto leans over the railings, staring down at where Jack's got his hip resting on the edge of the extra wide steel table. He's got on one of the black rubber butcher's aprons while Owen hovers around him, lab coat still mostly pristine as he points with his good hand at whatever he wants Jack to split, crack, or saw. “Everything is going normally and we've past the activity threshold. There's no longer enough energy built up in the Rift to move it in any direction. We're still three hours out from shut down, but it's now officially out of order. The weevils have been fed, Myfanwy too, and I need to get going if I'm going to make it to the ceremony in time. The surgery bay for the microtron is prepped and ready, Owen.”

 

“Thanks.” The doctor takes the cast out of his sling long enough to wave it in Ianto's direction.

 

“Wait, don't go yet.” Jack points a gory black ichor spattered hand in Ianto's direction. “Cheyenne left before I could see what I paid for. What does the dress look like?”

 

“Oh, you utter _girl_.” Ianto rolls his eyes as he digs his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket, jogging down the stairs of the curved room.

 

“That's not what you said last night.”

 

“Stop! I'm not listening to it.” Owen snarls, jabbing a bloody scalpel in Jack's direction. “Fucking _stop it_. Look at your pretty dress and then get back over here and help me peel the face off this thing.”

 

“Don't you _dare_ peel something's face off when I'm in the room because if I have to, I will shoot you _again_ to make you stop, Owen.” He pulls the picture up as fast as he can because he's got a disturbingly strong stomach from years with Torchwood, but Ianto draws the line at skinning someone's head. He's faintly queasy just at the thought.

 

“Pussy.”

 

“You can call me names all day since I _still_ don't care what you think of me, but if you stick that knife in that thing's face while I'm here, you'll be calling me names with a bullet in you.”

 

“Well then don't come any closer because we've just cracked the skull and I'm in the middle of getting the brain out.” Ianto rolls his eyes and shoves the shot Cheyenne sent just ten minutes ago of Gwen at the mirror, fussing over the position of her necklace, at Jack. The skirt of her dress falls from an empire waist in dozens of filmy, crisply white layers and swings around her calves in a massive cascade so wide that Gwen looks significantly smaller.

 

“It's just a brain Owen, let's not be a smart ass.” The doctor rolls his eyes, spinning to snark in Ianto's direction and pausing as he sees the photo being held up for Jack's perusal.

 

“Jesus, what the hell kind of dress is that? This morning she looked like she'd swallowed a baby elephant. I mean she still looks pregnant, just a lot _less_ pregnant.”

 

“Camouflage dressing, apparently.” The corners of Gwen's mouth are turned down in a way that suggests she's trying really hard not to scowl as her fingertips rest against the wide choker of pearls.

 

“It's a shame she hates it; she makes a beautiful bride,” Jack says.

 

“Yes she does, and I'm leaving or I'll miss seeing her myself. Rhiannon's picking up Indy in half an hour. I called over to Sands this morning and placed an order for a little cake. Stop by as soon as you're done here and pick it up for me. It's not her wedding cake, but it'll be better than nothing.”

 

“Or maybe we put the cakes on hold a minute.” Owen's voice is tight in a way that has Ianto shoving his phone back in his pocket, and coming around the top of the corpse with Jack to peer down into the opened skull. It should be empty, the lightly lavender-ish gray brain is sitting carefully in a shallow bowl at Owen's elbow, but at the base of the skull there's a thick fat reddish black thing that looks like a giant wobbling clot. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as Owen carefully slides his hand under and around it, scooping it into his palm. “Jack, reach in and sever it from the spine between my middle and index fingers.” It looks like a tight fit, working Jack's hands into the skull around Owen's without cutting the medic or damaging the disgusting thing that has them both working around it like a tiny bomb.

 

“Oh, that's not some kind of biological bomb, is it?” Ianto can't stop himself from whinging a bit.

 

“No, and you watch too much tv,” Owen complains without looking up.

 

“Says the man autopsying an alien. So what are you two digging out so carefully then?”

 

“This.” They move back as one, the not-a-clot in Owen's good hand much more solid than its oil-slick shiny surface suggests and Ianto wants to look at it closer, but he's a bit distracted by the way the corpse on the table is _shifting_. It's face hollows out, red eyes that were dull in death, smaller and closer set than before and its mouth now a perfect circle filled with rows of those slick black teeth. The limbs are shorter and thicker than before, torso wide and barrel shaped. “Look what our friend was hiding.”

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

“It's the Proteus gland. It's the shape shifting gland of a Nostrovite.”

 

“And what is _that_ , exactly?” The gland tries to stick to Owen's hand, coming loose slowly to flop into its own specimen bowl next to the brain and leaving thick trails of its black-red slime coating the doctor's fingers.

 

“It's trouble.” Jack's already tossed the scalpel onto the tray to be sterilized and has ripped the butchering apron off, tossing it in the hosing bin while Owen scrubs his hand as fast as he can. “Big trouble.  A Nostrovite is a shape-shifting carnivore with a taste for human flesh. It's intelligent and sneaky and ... dammit, I should have seen this before.” They're rushing through the basest of safety procedures for handling bodies, rolling the entire gurney into the tiny walk in cooler at the back of the room so Owen can lock it down.

 

“Well, that's the problem with shape-shifters, innit? You never know what you're looking at.” Owen's already opening his top cupboard, well out of reach of little hands, and yanking out his gun and holster. He shrugs out of his lab coat and leaves it puddled on the floor around his feet when he yanks the strap up over his shoulder and fumbles trying to fasten it with a cast arm in a sling.

 

“Well it's dead, right? Big deal.” Ianto says it with a conviction he's trying to fake, stepping forward to fasten the buckle on Owen holster and promptly flipping him off from as close as he can get his finger before the other man can make any smart remarks about it. Owen slaps at his arm and the three of them head up out of the autopsy bay at a run; Jack and Owen hustling and Ianto trailing along behind them in annoyance that Gwen might be right and perhaps there's no such thing as a break after all.

 

“Well, _this_ one is.”

 

“Oh, does there have to be more than one? Really?”

 

“Yep.” They hit Jack's office door hard enough that Ianto winces, expecting the glass to spiderweb as the knob smacks into it, even though he knows it's been tempered to withstand a small bomb blast. “They mate for life, like swans or penguins. Just, less likely to appear on greeting cards.” Ianto has a sudden ridiculous image of two of those squat, circle mouthed monsters holding hands on the front of a heart shaped card. He shakes the image out of his head and helps Jack into his coat before handing the man his gun.

 

“Problem is, I've been doing my autopsy trying to identify a shape shifting man eater, of which there are dozens, but the thing is, he wasn't trying to _eat_ that unlucky stiff in the drawer down stairs; he was trying to get him pregnant. The male Nostrovite carries the microscopic fertilized eggs in a sac in his mouth and passes them along through a bite to the host. We're lucky Gwen's his only surviving victim. Last time there were twenty-three hosts and six survivors.”

 

“Holy...So where does the mother come in?”

 

“She hunts down the host and rips them open.” Jack answers grimly. And right now the 'host' is in a crowd of a hundred or so family and friends, surrounded by even more civilians when he takes into account the hotel and wedding staff.

 

“Then we're going to need more guns than this.”

 

***

 

Gwen plucks once more at the frothy fall of silk chiffon she's swimming in. Between the fluffy layers and the huge ball-gown wide petticoats swinging around her calves she's disguised as a far less pregnant version of someone else who just so happens to look like her. There are ornate, eye catching details everywhere they could be thrown on without making her look like a rhinestone covered clown, her plain nylons traded in for sheer white with delicate silver scroll work embroidered up the calves to disappear under the massive skirt. Her cute strappy embellished heels are still at home tucked into their box and the shoes on her feet now are a bright cobalt blue suede with a thick wide wedge. The hairstyle she chose weeks ago doesn't work with the new veil, so her stylist did a new carefully curled updo that the head piece settles in front of like a crown and she looks like someone else; a _pregnant_ someone else playing the part of Gwen Cooper on the day of her wedding preformed as a ballet.

 

“I'm sorry honey, I thought you'd _like_ the dress.” Cheyenne's perched on the foot of Gwen's bed, frowning apologetically as she watches Gwen stop by the full length mirror again to stare at herself.

 

“It's not...the dress is pretty Cheyenne. It's not that I don't like it, it's just...this isn't _my_ dress. These aren't my shoes and my parents and Rhys' both think they're getting a grandchild by now and I just...you were right. You and Jack you were right, I should have gone to the Hub. I just...I wanted so badly to not ruin this _one_ thing for us, you know?” Her voice doesn't crack because Gwen's just too disappointed to cry. “I just...I thought if it were us, and our families with the registrar here I'd be able to stop thinking long enough to just _enjoy_ getting married and instead I've just made a bigger mess to clean up. Again.”

 

“Okay, do you want me to go call it off? Cause I'll go do that for you Gwen. We'll bully the priest up here so you two can sign your papers, Tosh and I will witness and then she can smuggle you and Rhys out the back. I'll go make an announcement and we'll be at the Hub drinking champagne and eating the surprise consolation cake Ianto ordered for you two while we were out getting your dress.”

 

“He did?” Now her eyes threaten to well and Cheyenne points an accusing finger at her, fishing a crisp white lacy handkerchief from the bodice of her pale lilac dress with the other hand to jab it in Gwen direction.

 

“Don't you _dare_ fucking cry until I know for a fact you're going back to the Hub.”

 

“I'm not. I can't!” Gwen plucks the handkerchief from Cheyenne's fingers, dabbing carefully at her eyes to keep from smudging the liner or foundation under it. “It's bloody well done now, isn't it? Everyone's already seen me, I'm already here and it's not my dress, but it's still damn cute and I'm not wasting two hours getting my hair pulled by an annoyed stylist to lay back and get microwaved when I could be getting married!”

 

“That works for me. Okay kiddo, I've been able to convince your maids of honor to run a bunch of errands that didn't actually need to be overseen, but you're twenty minutes to show time and they should be back soon. Tosh is doing a last sweep inside the hotel, I'm going to do a quick walk around outside and the next time I see you, you'll be coming up an aisle.” Cheyenne takes Gwen's hands in hers, stretching up to kiss the air next to the younger woman's cheek. “You're beautiful and Rhys is lucky, and I know it's not what you planned darlin’, but I _promise_ that when you look back you'll be so glad you didn't wait a single day.” The older woman laughs wetly, tilting her head back to keep her tears from dripping down her face while she snatches the hankie back from Gwen and dabs at the corners of her eyes. “Dang it Gwen, look what you did. I normally make it at least as far as watching the bride get halfway down the aisle before I start doing this.”

 

“You cry at weddings?”

 

“Like someone slapped me. Thankfully I cry in a very flattering way; with waterproof mascara while wearing a foundation matte enough to cover the blotching.” Gwen giggles despite herself as Cheyenne steps back, still dabbing carefully at her eyes with one hand, fluttering her fingers in front of her face with the other. “Damn. Okay you, chin up. You're marrying your man today.”

 

***

 

Cheyenne lets herself out of the bridal suite with a sniffle, dabbing at her eyes one more time as she heads down the hall for the main stairwell. The ground floor is filled with milling strangers and she smiles politely at them as she weaves her way through, trying to stay far enough back that no one bumps up against the thigh holster under her skirt as she lets herself out the nearest side door.

 

It's a beautiful day for a wedding, clear cloudless skies and warm sunshine that she tips her face up towards for just a minute, letting the rays bathe her face as she takes a deep breath. The air is soft with the smell of grass and for a second she leans against the warm stone wall and lets herself think back thirteen years; to being eighteen and the swish of silk over grass as she kept her eyes on the ground behind her veil to make she placed her feet perfectly on the small white flagstones to keep her heels from sinking into the grass as her own father led her up the aisle.

 

In her bag there's a small discrete chirp and Cheyenne opens her eyes guiltily, reaching into the small clutch and sliding her headset into her ear.

 

“Morgan.”

 

“Bad news and worse news.” Something she's already alerted for by the fact that she can hear the truck's engine and the rush of air past a cracked window under Jack's tense voice.

 

“Fuck. Okay, what is it?”

 

Five minutes later she's wishing she'd never asked as she creeps around the edges of the building towards the back entrance away from the guests with the stun baton that had formerly filled the entirety of the bottom of her bag clutched tightly in her fist and hidden in the folds of her skirt. The good news is that the crowd has vanished by the time she slides into the foyer, the bad news is that she can't raise Tosh from inside any more than the boys can. She's running up the stairs and almost crashes into Gwen and her father at the top, Gwen's face twisted into a combination of fear and excitement while her father keeps giving her worried little looks from the corner of his eye.

 

“Don't worry about it.” She points a firm finger at Gwen's face. “You look beautiful, just go get married. Quicker is better please.” Gwen takes a deep breath, nods firmly and lets herself grin in a way that Chy's pretty sure she's been secretly wanting to all day, making her way down the stairs carefully with her father as the Canon in D drifts softly out of the reception hall from behind the other end of the building. Cheyenne waits long enough to make sure she's out of Geriant's line of sight before taking off down the hall at a sprint. The carpet is old, the edges of the runner slick with age and Cheyenne stops with a huff and slips out of her needle thin heels, leaving them discarded outside a random door along with her hat as she transfers the shock stick to her left hand. “Boys, I can't get Tosh on the coms either. How tight can the GPS ping?”

 

“Hold on, let me use her station.” There's a heaving scuffling sound as Ianto clambers over the back of the passenger’s seat in a moving vehicle to get into Tosh's seat behind the driver with its compact mini-Hub systems. “I should be able to get you to within a couple feet of her. We're ten minutes out Chy.”

 

“I can't wait around for backup if this thing is already in the building, Ianto.” Even though actually hunting aliens is out of her fucking job description, particularly man eating ones, especially after last time on the boat. Carefully she inches the skirt of her dress up, unlatching the safety strap on her holster and sliding her Colt out and into her hand. It was her birthday present from Jack this year, a prototype of the 'New Agent' style that fits her small hands better as she moves into the middle of the hall where she can't be reached from a quickly opened doorway.

 

“I know, but be careful. These things are pretty fast apparently.”

 

“Yeah, well so am I.” The hall is perfectly still as she comes towards a corner, forcing back a flinch as an organ from outside begins the loud triumphant beginning of Wagner's wedding march, signaling Gwen stepping into the door of the hall. “Okay, we need to get moving because Gwen's getting ready to start her wedding march. She's now a stationary target for the next forty minutes.”

 

“I found Tosh. She's a floor up from you on the other end of the building.”

 

“Of course she is. Tell Jack that if he's not doing triple digits he's not driving fast enough. Hurry up guys, I do _not_ intend to get eaten today.”

 

“You better not because I will be a terrible mother. I've got a hotel map overlay. You want room 210.”

 

The stairway is narrow and Cheyenne hates every heart pounding minute of her sprint up the dimly lit staircase up to the next floor, waiting for someone to burst through the door at the top or come running up behind her. She bursts out and spins to put her back to the window at the end of the hall, scanning the empty narrow space as she takes a deep steadying breath. It's silent, up far enough that she can only faintly hear the music from the ground floor as she jogs towards the far end, pausing every so often to check the room numbers.

 

“Help! Someone help!” It's a man's voice, made shrill by panic and Chy figures it's as good a beacon to orient on as any. She frees her gun from where it's hidden in the extra fabric of her dress and sprints for the voice that stops with ominous abruptness as she skids to a stop in her stockings in front of the room she was looking for.

 

“Someone was screaming for help from inside the room Tosh is in. A man.” The knob twists half a turn left before stopping. “The fucking door is locked.”

 

“Hey, help us! There's a monster that looks like a woman and she ate someone, help!”

 

“Shut _up_ you idiot!” Tosh's voice is a low hiss that only carries because Cheyenne has pressed her ear to the door to listen for movement inside the room.

 

“Oh my God, I found Tosh. Toshiko, it's Cheyenne! Are you hurt?” It's hard to keep an eye on the hall while calling as softly as possible through a solid wood door.

 

“No, but we're trapped! It's here at the wedding; a woman in a black dress, about Gwen's height, blond, pretty when she's not eating the DJ.” Toshiko's voice is soft as it drifts out of the locked room.

 

“We know it's here, Jack's got the cavalry on their way right now.” She spins, pressing her back to the door so she can scan the hall from both directions. “Boys, say you're close because I don't have the universal pick and I'm not going to be kicking this big door down any time soon.”

 

“We can see the building.” She relays the message to Tosh over her shoulder.

 

“Well tell them to hurry up because the corpse in here isn't improving with age and if this idiot touches me one more time I'm going to break his wrist.”

 

She hears them as soon as they pull up, the throaty growl of the truck cutting off and doors slamming loud enough to drift in through the open window. Even knowing they're coming up the stairs Cheyenne almost shoots Owen on reflex as he and Ianto come tearing around the corner from the stairwell. Ianto stalks down the hall and tugs her away from the door, squeezing her hand in his before holstering his own gun and taking a quick double step towards the door; lifting his leg and busting the door in with two quick kicks. Tosh is facing the door, spun into a black cocoon of something that looks faintly sticky and squelches sickeningly when the man Tosh is lashed to starts struggling desperately.

 

“Tosh, are you okay?” Owen's through the door before Ianto's got his balance back, already yanking on a latex glove from his jacket pocket and tugging at the alien silk that is absolutely as sticky as it looks.

 

“Is that a _web_? Because I swear to fucking God if there's a man eating space spider in here you are all on your fucking own. I will leave you all here to _die_ , I swear to God I will.” Cheyenne can't stop staring at the black mass in revulsion as she picks her way further into the room, at least not until she rounds the end of the bed to find Mervyn's corpse. Almost two hours in a shut up room in the middle of June hasn't done the remains any favors and she feels her stomach lurch as she can't rip her eyes away from the hollowed out shell of the DJ. Almost everything soft from the middle of the thighs to the bottom of the ribs is gone although there are a few hefty sized, reeking globs of _things_ that are probably organs. “ _Oh_.” For a second her legs try to buckle under her and Ianto's hand on her shoulder, spinning her towards the window is the only thing that keeps her from seriously ruining the crime scene. She fumbles the window open, shoves her head and shoulders out into the air and sucks in one gulping breath of fresh sweet air before vomiting two stories into the bushes below.

 

By the time she's done being sick Owen has at least slung the rest of the windows wide open and has joined Ianto in trying to saw through the stuff wrapping Tosh and Rhys' best man together.

 

“These pocket knives aren't touching this mess. Cheyenne, go down to the SUV and get the cutters case.”

 

She passes a traumatized looking Gwen on the stairs, Rhys' face clouded with apocalyptic rage and Jack hustling the both of them up to the bridal suite at a run, his gun out and half concealed by the crease of his coat. He looks at her in concern and she throws him a wink because she's shaky and nauseous, but mostly alright and even if she weren't they've got a job to do. The guests are milling about in confusion and it only takes a few floating snatches of conversation to make it obvious that Jack has made an already rotten situation a thousand times worse, bursting into the wedding hall at a run and hustling the bride away from the alter and out the side door as the groom storms along. A few kind souls are willing to speculate that there might be an emergency, but almost every murmur Cheyenne catches on her way to the truck is unflattering. She scowls as she jumps behind the wheel of the SUV and jerks the seat all the way forward, whipping the truck in a tight circle and taking it up and around the service road, blocking in the catering trucks. The keys jingle in her hands as she scrambles over two rows of seats to fold the back bench down, fumbling the latch for the hidden compartment open. The truck has more hollowed out spaces and hidden compartments than it looks big enough for and in each of them someone, most likely Ianto, has taken stencils and white spray paint to mark out what is what in a hurry. Under the seat is a black metal box with a saw toothed cutting blade marked across the front. Chy yanks it out of its space and slams the hatch down, flipping the seat back into place and folding the armrest between the two seats out and open. Tucked neatly into the divider are three pairs of thin rollable ballet flats and Cheyenne stops long enough to yank out the smallest pair and jam her feet into them. The other two pairs she shoves into her bag because right now half of team Torchwood is running around in four inch heels or higher and she thinks they can use all the advantages they can get.

 

She's slung the door to the truck open and is hopping down with the cutters in hand when a girl she faintly remembers from last night at Gwen's bachelorette party goes scrambling towards the hall still half full of guests, screaming her head off about how Mervyn's been murdered, Ianto thundering down the stairs in pursuit.

 

“Jam the signals!” He doesn't stop, just points her back at the truck as he runs by.

 

“For fucks' sake, _really_?!” The case is thumped back into the back seat as Cheyenne heaves herself into the truck again, tapping out the all user code they share for the SUV systems and going right for the communications icon. Tosh is a genius who's made hacking the government as easy as picking the right app and in seconds Cheyenne's got their antenna sending a pulse to the nearest cell tower, scrambling every signal in five miles before jumping back out of the truck.

 

By the time she's made it back to the room Jack and Owen have mostly sawed Tosh free by hand. Owen glares at her as she comes into the room at a sprint and slings the heavy metal box onto the bed.

 

“Oh, shut up. I had a cell tower to shut down also, you know. Since _you_ assholes left the door open with no guard. Gwen, heads up.” The bride almost fumbles her catch when Cheyenne lobs the flats from her purse through the air before yanking out the last pair and dropping to her knees, swapping out Toshiko's shoes while Jack snaps a diamond chip edged cutter together and goes to work slicing through the black resinous fibers. “Don't mind me down here, I just thought you might want to run for your life in flats instead.”

 

“Ianto's downstairs keeping the lines jammed, that means Tosh, you're gonna be with me.” Jack runs the blade across the last strands, killing the power and tossing the mini saw to the bed as he peels Tosh carefully out of the cocoon. She steps down off the bed and smooths down her skirt with a huff, taking the gun Owen's holding out with his free hand. “Let's go find that woman in black of yours. Gwen, Owen needs to operate; right now. Cheyenne, guard their backs.”

 

“I want Gwen _safe_ Jack. Now.” Rhys is shoving his hands through his hair, gripping at the strands as he stomps around Gwen like an ill-tempered herding dog.

 

“I want her safe too, Rhys! That's why we do what I say. If we run, the Nostrovite will be waiting for us and we're running out of time.” Jack shoves his way out of the room and Cheyenne rolls her eyes in annoyance as Rhys glares at his retreating back before pinning her and Owen with a stern glare.

 

“So what's the plan?”

 

Five minutes later there's gunfire and screaming coming from downstairs and Cheyenne ignores Gwen freaking out behind her as Owen slings his backpack off his shoulder and opens it to keep her weapon trained on the only way in.

 

“That? The singularity scalpel? That is your 'idea'? No. _No_!”  
  
“Gwen, it's cool. Believe me, okay? I've been practicing a lot with it lately.” Cheyenne spares a glance over her shoulder to glare at the machine Owen's unloading carefully. It's much heavier than its size suggests and she sees him wince as he lifts it with his broken arm.  
  
“What is it?” Rhys is staring back and forth between it and the distrustful stare Gwen's giving it as Owen starts to power up the machine.  
  
“Alien medical apparatus ... so Owen thinks. We're not entirely sure since so far he's mostly used it to set things on fire and almost kill Ianto.” There’s a knock at the door and Cheyenne's stepping up, training her weapon at what's most likely mid body height through the solid wood, pulling back the slide on her weapon.   
  
“Rhys?” She doesn't recognize the voice coming through the door, but Gwen does, stepping up and resting her hand on Chy's shoulder.  
  
“That's his mother. That's Rhys' mother.”   
  
“Rhys, are you in there, Rhys?” The woman continues to stand on the other side of the door banging on the wood and making an attractively noisy target of herself. Owen pulls his own weapon, tucking himself against the far wall out of sight as Cheyenne lets hers fall to her side among the folds of her skirt. Gwen picks up her bouquet and stands in front of the bed, blocking the sight of the singularity scalpel as Rhys goes to answer the door.   
  
“Hiya.” Cheyenne fights back the urge to roll her eyes as the short stumpy woman bustles into the room, ugly hat sitting crooked on her dirty blond hair as she grabs at her son's waistcoat, pointing towards the door Cheyenne has swung shut again.  
  
“There's ... there's a monster, Rhys. That American and the Japanese girl, they went after it!” Owen gives her a look and dashes for the door.   
  
“You four stay here.” Rhys closes the door again as the doctor disappears from the room and Brenda turns, looking back and forth between Gwen and Rhys.

 

The next three minutes are a shit show, even compared to the day they're currently having. Cheyenne shouts until her face is red trying to get Gwen and Rhys to be reasonable and the entire time they ignore her and proceed to tell the scowling woman between them and the door as many classified secrets as they can spill between shouting back at her.  
  
“This isn't Rhys's baby, Brenda. It's an alien.” Gwen moves her bouquet aside to indicate her belly and Cheyenne rolls her eyes as the older woman rocks back from Gwen in revulsion. The door bursts open behind them and Jack comes very close to getting shot in the face as he, Owen, Toshiko and Ianto step into the room with their guns on Brenda.  
  
“Get back, you ugly bitch!”   
  
“What the hell do you think you're doing? That's my mother!” Rhys has shoved himself in the way of every shot but hers and Cheyenne makes sure she's got her weapon pointed directly center of that broad green coated back.  
  
“No. It's the alien.”   
  
“I'm not an alien!” The woman flails her hands and over Jack's shoulder Ianto lifts one brow questioningly. She shakes her head once to let him know she has no idea what's happening.  
  
“Jack, does the shape-shifter copy smell too?” Gwen's moving now, sliding in the way of the bullets too and Owen throws his gun in the air in annoyance.  
  
“No, just physical. Move out of the way!”  
  
“Well, I'd recognize that bloody awful perfume anywhere. It's Brenda, Jack.” The corner of Gwen's mouth turns up in amusement as Jack opens his mouth and closes it again in confusion without saying a word. “It’s ... it’s Brenda.” He puts his gun down, already beaming apologetically and steps forward just as Rhys swings and hits him square in the jaw.   
  
“Oh!” Jack stumbles back a step and Ianto reaches over Tosh's head, steadying him as Rhys steps backwards, flexing his fingers until the joints pop and glowering.  
  
“That's for calling my mother an ugly bitch!”   
  
“You've been wanting to do that all day, haven't you?” Rhys looks over his shoulder, sparing Cheyenne a half smirk as he straightens his waistcoat.  
  
“Excuse me, but if _that's_ Rhys's mum,” Tosh's voice is dry. “Then who's that outside?”   
  
***  


Gwen comes down the stairs as fast as she can, bouquet and gun clutched together in her hands and she's very glad she's not in heels anymore, stumbling over her own feet no less than twice, once severely enough that Jack has to catch her by the elbow. The crowd thins, rushing out of the way of an armed mob and they all but tumble out of the side door, rushing through the gardens at Tosh's urging.  


“Move!” Jack barks out his order and they spread out across the grass, turning their back in towards each other as they scan the grounds. There's a throbbing in her body like a slow pulling and Gwen's already turning towards her right when Owen calls out and just like that Gwen freezes, almost dropping her hidden weapon from numb fingers as the 'Brenda' next to Gwen's mother sees them and grins. The Nostrovite shrieks, eyes going red, teeth are blackened and sharp. The nails on her hands curve into monstrous claws and Gwen screams, can't stop herself as the alien rushes Gwen's mother, long needle sharp claws prickling the thin skin under her mother's neck. Her mum freezes, eyes blown wide and Gwen can't breathe. She goes to rush forward, jerked still by Rhys' hands on her upper arms.  
  
“Mum!” The thing laughs and Gwen feels her blood run cold as on either side of her bullets are chambered in a series of clicks.  
  
“Don't shoot!” Jack's voice booms and Gwen yanks forward away from Rhys. He lets her go and steps out with her, unarmed and still at her back step for step as they step out far enough to queer most the shots. Everyone stops and faintly Gwen is aware of them, but mostly she only has eyes for her mum. Jack calls her name and she keeps her eyes on the thing threatening her family.  
  
“That’s my mum, Jack.” Her words feel like they stick in her throat like a whisper but Jack hears her.  
  
“Halt!” And because she knows that means her too she freezes and wishes her hands were bigger or her bouquet was smaller because she's having a hell of a time moving her gun into position without dropping either thing.  
  
“Hi, Mum.” Her mother is staring at her, eyes wide and frightened and Gwen kind of wants to dissolve into tears and apologize for all of this except that's not going to save her mum's life.  
  
“The bond between mother and child is a wonderful thing.” The Nostrovite mostly sounds like Brenda and Gwen takes a deep breath in relief as she finally gets her finger on the trigger and the barrel nestled among the lilies and aimed more or less at the alien.  
  
“Let her go, okay?”  
  
“Your mother for my child.” The alien looks earnestly at Gwen and if she thought she could convince the thing to let them all do this in a nice, safe, surgical setting Gwen would do it, but it's watching her through flat, remorseless predator's eyes and Gwen knows it's her family or the Nostrovite’s.  
  
“No deal.” Jack snarls from behind her and the Nostrovite never looks away from Gwen, ignoring him totally.   
  
“You don't have a say.”  
  
“Don't listen to it, Gwen.” Her mum's voice trembles and Gwen sucks in a wet breath, blinks fast because she cannot have blurry vision right now. She needs to get closer.  
  
“It's okay, Mum, I'll make sure you're safe.” She forces herself to smile because her mother has started to cry and Gwen just needs for her to believe the things Gwen is saying. “It won't kill you, _you'll be okay_.”   
  
“You can't do this.” Rhys wraps his hand around her shoulder and Gwen freezes, praying he doesn't pull her around and expose the gun in her hand.   
  
“It's my Mum, Rhys.”   
  
“Gwen, I can’t ...” She lifts her flowers, not much, hopefully from the front it just looks like she's squaring her shoulders, but it's enough to draw Rhys' eyes down and his voice trails off. She turns her face and presses her mouth to his.

 

“I love you.” She pulls away from him, looking over his shoulder at Jack, flinty eyed and thinking a million miles an hour to try and get them all out of this. “Jack...”  
  
“Rhys!” She's not sure if he's figured out what she's doing or is just hoping to reduce the amount of bodies they're trying not to hit, but he snaps out a command and Rhys falls back reluctantly towards Ianto, letting the younger man tug him back evenly in line with the rest of them. It's all the opening she's going to get and Gwen starts stepping forward slowly, talking to her mother and hoping that's enough to keep the Nostrovite from noticing that Gwen hasn't stopped looking at her once.  


“Okay, Mum. You're going to be okay. It's okay, Mum.” She can feel the thing inside her moving slowly inside it's egg, stirring with excitement as she brings it closer to its mother and Gwen wishes she could stop and be sick without killing everyone here. “Stay calm, still.”   
  
“Come to Momma!” The Nostrovite has to shove her mother out of the way to rush forward. Gwen's mother hits the ground with a sharp shocked cry and she forces herself not to look away from the thing coiling itself to launch at her. She lifts her arms and doesn't bother untangling the gun from its cover, shooting through pristine white and lush red petals. The greenery shreds in her hands under the hail of bullets that rock the Nostrovite in pain. It spins away from the slugs Gwen's emptying directly into center mass, screeching like a raptor and rushing faster than Gwen's prepared for into the building.

 

Behind her Jack and Ianto bolt for the building, already in pursuit and Gwen doesn't spare them a thought, waddling across the grass as fast as she can and yanking her mother to her feet and pressing the woman back towards the wall of armed Torchwood agents behind them.  
  
“That's the kind of daughter every mother must dream of. Cool as ice, packing an automatic.” Owen winks at her as he reaches out, wrapping his hand around her mum's wrist and giving her a quick head to toe while Cheyenne and Tosh keep guns pointed out despite the gathering crowd.   
  
“Oh, my God!” People are screaming and Gwen let's her parents wrap their arms around her as Jack and Ianto come jogging back in their direction. The grim scowl on Ianto's face is all the answer she needs.

  
“Gwen told me about you, but I didn't believe her.” Her father looks at Jack with a scowl and Cheyenne glares at her.

 

“Him too? Did you tell everyone at your entire fucking wedding that you hunt aliens Gwen?” Jack glowers at all of them and points at her.  
  
“I'll talk to you about that later. It'll be back soon. Owen, get Gwen ready. I want that thing dealt with now.”   
  
Jack splits them up and he's giving them all his most serious glare as he informs them that under no circumstances is anyone to stray from their group. Tosh and Cheyenne take off again towards the guests, herding aunts, cousins, and old school mates into the hall at gunpoint while Rhys wraps his hand around Gwen's free wrist and tugs her into a sprint as they fall in line behind Owen. They run through the halls until Gwen has to stop, doubled over as far as she can fold gasping desperately for air until the sparks lighting up in her peripheral vision stop. Her head is pounding, stomach heaving, and Gwen dumps a urn full of fresh flowers out onto the carpet and sicks up into it. Behind her she can hear Owen muttering to Rhys who keeps getting slightly louder on alarming words like 'operate' and 'can't' placed unfortunately close together. She wipes her mouth and lets her hand go down and support the huge unfamiliar weight the way she's been wanting to every time she moves.

 

“I'm going to the room.” It's two doors down and Owen looks torn as he looks back and forth between the distance and touches the shoulder strap of the bag he's got slung onto his back like she doesn't know he's got the stupid piece of junk he's been using to break things and shoot things in there. He's been obsessed with it since he and Cheyenne brought it back off that smuggling case, convinced it's going to be his dream tool.

 

“Fine, but the door stays open and we're on our way so don't do anything other than get on the bed and don't even lay down until we're there. I mean it.” She gives him the finger over her shoulder because she's earned a flop, just for a second, for keeping up with every other _not pregnant_ member of Torchwood. The hall isn't long enough for her to keep from hearing Owen mutter about how he can't actually _run_ the singularity scalpel with a broken arm and how _Rhys_ is going to have to run it. It's a shit idea and Gwen is about to whip around and march back down there to demand they wait for Ianto or Tosh, someone who at least has seen the damn thing work when she notices the sticky smudge of black on the handle of her door. Right on cue the thing in her begins to move and she gasps, hand flying to the top of her bulge, groaning as the thing in the egg rolls. Owen yanks the shoulder strap off his own arm and shoves the bag in Rhys' hand, stalking up the hall towards Gwen. The handle under her finger begins to turn and Gwen stumbles backwards towards Owen sprinting in her direction. The door swings inward and Jack sticks his head out of the door, reaching out for her.

 

“Get in here quick, it's coming. I've been waiting on you.” She flinches as gunfire sounds off behind her, bullets sinking into the door and slamming it into the fake Jack's face. The Nostrovite screams in pain and Owen stands his ground, firing at the red eyed black lipped Jack shaped thing as Gwen forces her legs to take her faster than she can actually move right now. Rhys has his arm around her ribs, yanking her along to the stairs at the other end of the hall. Behind her Owen is keeping the thing pinned down and he needs backup that she can't give him when she's being yanked breathlessly away.

 

“Owen, with Gwen!” Jack's voice, _really_ Jack's voice is a relief when he and Ianto come around the corner from the stairwell she and Rhys are heading for, guns already up. “Get down!”

 

Owen obviously manages not to get shot despite the steady stream of bullets Gwen hears being discharged towards the thing staying hidden behind the thick door and she's glad to have the help as Owen shoulders his way under her other arm and the two of them all but drag her down the stairs and out onto the lawn  
  
“You all right?” Owen spares her a sharp glance as he steers them towards the closest building not filled with panicked guests.   
  
“I'm running around in a wedding dress with what feels like a keg of lager stuck inside me between my tits and my twat. What do  _you_  think, Owen?”   
  
“Come on!” Rhys yanks them closer to an old barn and Gwen groans low in her throat because the thing that's in her hasn't stopped moving yet and she thinks it's not just being near the mother anymore. She thinks this thing is just as eager to be born as its mother is to have it.   
  
The door opens with a crash under Rhys' shoulder and the three of them fall through the doors. She lets her knees buckle under her and crawls over to a nearby pile of hay, collapsing down onto her side with a half swallowed shriek. Rhys shuts the door and braces it closed with a piece of wood. They're not in the stables thank God, but they're surrounded by bales, horse tack and the junk that goes with the horse drawn carriage package that Gwen thought was maybe a bit over the top for her when she was shopping for wedding packages. Owen leaves Rhys locking down the double doors and comes over to her, flipping her over onto her back in the hay and staring down in revulsion at the slow undulation under her dress.  
  
“I can't...I can’t go any further! Get it out of me! Rhys!” He turns towards her when she calls for him and as he does something large hits door from the outside. The amateur barricade bows as the Nostrovite screeches that shrill echoing hunting scream and begins throwing itself against the door over and over.  


“It's here! It’s here!” Rhys throws his shoulder against the barricade and over her Owen curses.

 

“Shit! Throw me the pack!” Rhys takes the bag off, stumbling as the doors smack into the things he's leaning against and whips the bag as hard as he can through the air. Owen catches it with both hands and a groan of agony, thumping it down on the pile of hay Gwen's writhing in and peeling the bag out from around it.  
  
“Let's do this. Okay, Gwen, lie down. Rhys, on a three count I need you over here. We're going to switch. I'll guard, you follow instructions.” Owen yanks his gun up, ejects a magazine with only one bullet left and slaps in what Gwen's really hoping isn't his only backup clip. “Three!”  
  
Rhys sprints over, diving down onto his knees next to her and Gwen cuts her eyes back and forth between Rhys who's pale from fear, Owen who's bone white from pain as he jams his back against the barricade and the door bowing in further and scooting the doctor another smidge of an inch further back with every smash.

  
“Just do it! Do it!” She's screaming at them because the thing inside her is thrashing violently enough to jerk her body, Owen is shouting directions that she can't hear over the pounding of her own heart and Rhys yanks his eyes desperately up from the screen that Gwen knows is _still_ mostly in alien glyphs to look at her. “Do it!”  
  
She lets her head fall back on the hay as he grits his teeth and jabs his finger down roughly on the touch screen. Off to her left hay actually _catches on fire_ and Rhys scrambles over, stomping on it while Owen screams about how it's the _other_ sideways circles that looks like the map for the number five tube line. In her the Nostrovite baby heaves and she screams before she can stop herself because even getting blown apart by Owen's stupid mini death ray that he _swears_ is a scalpel just because a smuggler said it was will be better than letting this thing tear its way out of her.  
  
“Rhys!” Outside the Nostrovite screams again, shriller than ever.  
  
“All right, all right. I’ve got it. I've got it now.” Rhys has scrambled back over to the heavy silver box and picked it back up, aiming it at her again.  
  
“I love you...I _really_ love you, okay?” She grins at him as widely as she can despite the pressure that's definitely becoming pain because if she dies that's absolutely the last thing she wants to have said to him and Rhys presses his fingers to the curve of her cheek once and then locks his eyes on the machine. It beeps once, a pleasant sound Gwen's never heard it make before and for a second it all goes black.

  
“Gwen! Gwen!” She comes around with Rhys cupping her face, pressing his lips to her brow as he strokes her hair. Someone is touching her wrists, most likely Owen, and there's no rolling writhing bulge under the dress now swimming around her. Her stomach is flat where she keeps touching it. Sore, awfully, painfully sore but a couple painkillers and she'll be fine.  


And then the barricade gives way and the Nostrovite is there again, shaped like Brenda as it looms in the doorway.

 

“Get away from her, Rhys! Let me have my young and I won't hurt you.” Owen goes to move, and Rhys makes it first, rolling off the trampled bale they're all on and yanking a small chainsaw up from the corner.  
  
“You're too late! It's gone!” Owen's too busy running his hands across her ribs and stomach to look away but he's shoved his gun back into Gwen's hand and she's got it cocked and ready if Rhys would ever move out of the way. Instead he's stomping across the barn floor and the saw in his hands roars as he kicks it on. “And I have had a _gutful_ of you! You get my girlfriend pregnant, you impersonate my mum and you ruin my wedding day! Bullets don't work? Fine. Let's see you grow a new head you bitch.” The thing cringes back as Rhys whips the fifty pound saw over his head seconds before it sputters and dies. “Fuck!”

  
“Rhys, you're a bad boy. And you know what bad boys get?” The Nostrovite has straightened her shoulders, stepping towards Rhys and Gwen is about to scream for him to hit the ground when there's a high pitched whine followed by a low throbbing of air and just like that the Nostrovite is a wave of black blood, stinking ichor, and tiny globlets of flesh raining down around them. Ahead of them Rhys lets the chainsaw flop down onto the ground and Jack walks into the room holding something Gwen thinks might be used to shoot helicopters out of the air.  
  
“How's _that_ for a shape shift? Sorry about the wait kids, I needed a bigger gun.” He chuckles and comes into the room with that crazy cannon of his thrown up on his shoulder. “Hey, that whole "Evil Dead" thing looks pretty good on you, Rhys.”

 

“Oh, for zombie _movies_ he'll get the references right.” Ianto's leaning in the doorway, an equally large gun slung across his body with an exasperated look on his face. “You know that's going to stain, right?” Rhys stands there, panting and speechless and Jack clasps his hands down on his shoulder and shakes him before crossing the floor and scooping Gwen up out of the hay. “You okay?”   
  
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes when Jack looks across her to Owen and is actually pretty relieved when he agrees with her, nodding his head once. He carries her over to Rhys and puts her down next to him, beaming as he twists Gwen just so so that they're standing shoulder to shoulder.  
  
“And...” Jack reaches forward, brushes Gwen's curl back behind her ear again and grabs her hand, dropping it into Rhys'. “The hero always gets the girl.” 

 

Next to her Rhys squeezes her hand and Gwen looks over at the alien blood splattered across everything, the huge dress hanging around her and Ianto knelt down next to Owen following the medic's terse muttered directions to make sure the day hasn't re-fractured the arm that got snapped less than two weeks ago on a case.  
  
“I am sorry. I've spoilt everything, haven't I?” Rhys leans forward, cupping her chin and resting his forehead against hers with a snort. “Do you still want to marry me?”


	4. Chapter 4

It's easily the most awkward wedding Ianto has ever been to. The registrar keeps stumbling over her words because she's too busy trying to look at the shattered windows, Jack's leaning against the shut doors of the hall with a gun that weighs more than Indiana still slung around his neck, and the wedding pair are alien splattered. The best man still has cocoon webbing hanging from his hair, the bridesmaid that's been settled into a chair in the corner keeps bursting into tears about the DJ, and Gwen's too large dress is only staying on because she's wearing Ianto's tie like a belt. All in all everyone in the room is fairly traumatized, although everyone still manages a pretty good cheer when the words “man and wife” are said out loud.

 

Probably because they think they can leave now.

 

Gwen's maid of honor is still settled within arms’ reach of Owen, sipping on a second or third generous pour of whiskey, so Jack signs his name to the marriage certificate instead and then takes the pulpit away from the befuddled woman who's been stumbling over the most cut down version of a ceremony Ianto's ever seen for the last ten minutes.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming to share this special day with the bride and groom. And thank you also for forming an orderly queue on your way out the door and handing over all phones, cameras, recording devices, and car keys of any kind to my associate.” Ianto stands up with a groan because that's his cue.

 

“What the hell happened here today?!” Rhys' mother is on her feet, wide eyed as she gestures around the room. “There were _monsters,_ and she was pregnant, and now she's not, and who _are_ you people?” Jack grins at the room and braces his hands on the pulpit.

 

“We're Torchwood and you all just survived your first alien encounter. Mazel Tov.” From the corner Owen snorts in amusement. “That said, you've all just participated in an extraterrestrial event, so please hand over all your recording devices to the people next to the exits and proceed into the banquet hall for a quick physical, and debriefing followed by the reception. Anyone attempting to leave before being debriefed will be arrested and detained without access to representation under the Official Secrets Act. The bar will open for anyone who's already given their statement.”

 

It takes what feel like forever to debrief fifty guests who didn't really see anything, erase every picture and video taken from every phone, camera, and mp3 player since nine this morning. By the time they're done Ianto just wants to flop down and tell everyone to get out of his face because this was supposed to be his _day off_. He's actually gone as far as opening up his cuffs and slumping down into a chair when he scans the room and notices a distinct lack of white mingling among the guests.

 

“Please tell me someone else has Gwen, because she's not in the reception hall anymore.” The woman next to him lifts a brow incredulously and Ianto tilts his head up, pointing to the glowing blue light on his earpiece.

 

“She tagged me on the way out the door, said she was going to change but that was...ten or fifteen minutes ago?” Cheyenne's annoyed from the grumble in her tone. “I don't know, but I do know that at some point while we were saving their ungrateful lives, some bitch stole my shoes. My, like, third favorite pair of Chanel’s has gone on walkabout.”

 

“I feel like I shouldn't have to point out that if you throw two thousand dollar shoes in the floor of a public hallway they _will_ go missing.” Next to him the woman nods along and sips at her drink, fully settled in to enjoy the conversation and Ianto just can't be bothered enough to get up just to have some privacy.

 

“Oh, sorry. Next time I'll stop hunting for Tosh to go lock them in the truck first. I don't even care anymore. I'm over it. They were a little too pale anyway. It's just time to replace them all.”

 

“You've got forty-seven pairs of shoes Cheyenne, you're not seriously planning on replacing them all.” His voice falters as he looks over and sees the woman next to him sizing him up from head to toe. She wraps her lips around her straw, taking a long pull before winking at him.

 

“No, but at least half of them. Jack's still upstairs prepping the DJ's room. I'll check her room.”

 

“Well hold on, I'll come with you.” He pushes himself to his feet and tries to ignore the fact that the strange woman doesn't even wait until his back is turned to stare at his bum, dropping his voice to a mutter as he begins to weave his way through the small crowd. “There are entirely too many aunties on their third drink and you and Jack both left me in here alone.”

 

“I had to go look for my shoes! It's not my fault cougars are into you.” Ianto pauses at the door as Owen reaches up and grabs him by the shoulder, grinning as he draws breath to speak into his open com.

 

“Don't do it.” Ianto can't keep himself from hissing the warning under his breath, even when he knows Owen fully intends to run this to it's inevitable end.

 

“You'd know, wouldn't you?”

 

“You utter _bastard_.” Ianto reaches up hastily, yanking his ear piece out as Cheyenne's voice begins to climb. Owen winks at him and lets him go, leaning back against the chair he's got blocking the main door with a laugh before reaching up and muting his headset.

 

“Tell Jack to hurry up. The longer he takes, the more time I have to get her wound up and _you're_ the ones who have to take that home.”

 

“I hate you so much.”

 

Cheyenne meets him at the head of the stairwell and he leans down, nuzzling at her temple before pressing a kiss there.

 

“Owen's deliberately winding you up to annoy Jack.”

 

“Because he's a dick. Come on.” They get halfway down the hall before Jack jogs up behind them, slinging an arm around Ianto's neck.

 

“Are we sneaking off? Because if we are, I should probably wash my hands again when we get there.”

 

“No, Jack, we're not sneaking off for a tumble in someone's room.” He rolls his eyes as the immortal man huffs in disappointment. “You'd have gone right for the bridal suite too.”

 

“We're going to have to use a fire to deal with the mess in the DJ's room, so it's not like anyone is going to be staying here anyway.” He hopes his face is capable of showing exactly how unimpressed he is by the idea of the three of them sneaking off to _Gwen's room_ for a quick roll across the sheets. “It was just a thought!”

 

The bullets they blew through the door trying to keep the Nostrovite mother pinned down have left a ragged splintered hole that's letting the ragged gasping sound of tears out nicely. Jack's teasing chuckle stops and Cheyenne lets herself in quietly, leaving the two of them to follow her across the black blood stained carpet with wood splinters scattered across it.

 

Gwen's flopped down on a spindle legged vanity bench, hair half down in her face and veil gripped white knuckle tight in her hands as she gasps for breath between sobs. The dress is a grass stained puddle around her with the too big bodice crumpled around her waist and the gloves still on her hands have wide black streaks along the sides from where she's scrubbed at her eyes.

 

Ianto knows the moment Gwen realizes she’s no longer alone, because she straightens her shoulders and bites back a sob, trying to wipe her face without doing any more damage to her makeup.

 

“Gwen, honey...” Gwen crumples the veil further in her hands and turns towards them when Cheyenne speaks, a fake wobbly grin plastered on her face.

 

“Sorry. Sorry, I was just being daft. Don’t mind me. I’m done now.” Her composure lasts exactly as long as it takes Chy to cross the dressing room floor and perch next to Gwen, gathering her up in a tight hug. Ianto can feel Jack hovering anxiously behind him as Gwen hides her face in Cheyenne’s shoulder and breaks into fresh sobs. “Oh God, I feel like an idiot!”

 

“Oh it’s fine Gwen. I had three nuclear sized meltdowns on my wedding day and that was without aliens fucking anything up. You go ahead and get it out.”

 

“There’s a whole mess to clean up and I’m c-crying because my bloody wedding was ruined. It’s s-selfish. I know it’s selfish. I just wanted to marry the man I loved in a pretty dress and have my family there and r-remember it!”

 

“Oh sweetie. I understand. I really do. Guys, can you go find Rhys please? Hush you.” She doesn’t even raise her voice, just barrels over Gwen’s soggy protests. “He’s your husband and he’d hate to know you’re hiding in your room crying without him.”Dismissing them with a flick of her fingers, Cheyenne’s voice becomes a low reassuring murmur as Ianto backs out of the room, bringing Jack with him.

 

“Wow.” It’s rare to see Jack lost for words, but apparently the mess that has been today has accomplished it. The room is a wreck as they pick their way out of it over broken furniture and scattered clothing.

 

“Tell me about it.” Ianto's getting sick of jogging up and down the stairs and makes up his mind that now that he's downstairs again, he's not going back up the stairs here for anything less than another alien. Owen lifts his brow in question as they come in together, scowling when Jack pantomimes another half hour without breaking step. “There’s Rhys.” The groom is patting Gwen’s mother on the shoulder awkwardly as they speak, tie hanging dirty and undone from his collar. “Rhys! Sorry to interrupt, but Cheyenne asked us to let you know your wife needs you. She’s okay,” Ianto rushes to reassure him as he watches the other man go still. “She’s not hurt, it’s just...the day caught up to her and I think she could use her husband more than a girlfriend right now. They’re in the dressing room.”

 

“Right. Thanks mate.” Rhys thumps him on the shoulder with his fist as he hurries back down the hall, leaving them with Gwen’s mother, who crosses her arms and sets her jaw the exact same way Gwen does.

 

“So, aliens, is it?” She’s still at it three minutes later when Cheyenne appears at the end of the reception hall by Toshiko's door, hair falling out of the chignon it had started the day in and cutting in directly towards them.

 

“There you are. Oh, Mrs. Cooper, fantastic you’ve saved me a trip. Rhys is with her, but I think Gwen might like to see you right now. Come on, I'll let Tosh know you're okay to head upstairs.” She's gone and back quickly, tangling her fingers with Ianto's and tucking her fingertips in the pocket of Jack's greatcoat as the three of them drift around knots of witnesses towards a relatively quiet corner. “This...was the biggest shit show I think I've ever seen with my own two eyes. I cannot actually let this end this way, you know that right?”

 

“You...wait. Are you talking about moving the wedding from here to _our_ house?” Ianto turns to the nearest wall and rests his head against it, taking a deep breath. “Cheyenne, we're not in America, you can't just get married anywhere you want here. It has to be an approved venue or a registrars’ office.”

 

“And that requirement has been met. She got married today at an approved venue, and all the paperwork has been signed by all the right people. Which means that technically a redo tomorrow would be more like a vow renewal than a wedding...”

 

“ _Tomorrow_?” He really hopes Jack is looking at her like she's crazy because if he lifts his head and Jack also thinks this is a good idea then Ianto's head may just explode. “Chy, are you insane? We can’t host a wedding in less than a day! We have the space, and it’s beautiful, but what about seating? A dance floor? The fact that my family is supposed to be coming over for a barbeque?”

 

“So they come over for a wedding instead. Do you really think Gwen will care about five extra people if she gets to do this in her dress, with her parents walking away remembering it? All the hard stuff has been arranged, we're just moving things from here to our house and resetting. I can do a wedding in less than a day.” She tugs at his hand until he looks down at her, hating how serious her face is. “We’re having a wedding at home tomorrow.”

 

“Well.” He and Cheyenne both turn to look at Jack who’s scratching at the back of his head. “I do have some people who owe me some favors...” And that's that. She's got Jack in on it now and Ianto looks around the room at the unsettled, milling guests and then back to his lovers, now both staring at him expectantly.

 

“Well, just call us the wedding fairies then. Come on, let’s go ask Gwen if she’d like us to take a stab at salvaging this debacle.” Cheyenne throws her arms around him, pressing her lips to his quickly before leaning over his shoulder to kiss Jack's cheek.

 

“Good. I love weddings.” She heads back towards the honeymoon suite, skirt swinging around her knees and Ianto digs into his jacket, fishing out his phone.

 

“I should call Rhiannon and ask if she’ll keep Indy for the night if we’re going to be clearing up here and resetting at ours.”

 

“Resetting? Are we having the wedding at your house?” Tosh pauses in escorting an older woman across the reception room, pointing towards Owen before letting the woman head off on her own. “When?”

 

“Apparently tomorrow.” Tosh just stares incredulously at him and Ianto simply shrugs at her. Actually he’s going to text Rhi and save himself the massive pile of shit she’s going to give him for asking her to do something she’s always complaining she doesn’t get to. “I know, but Chy swears it can be done and apparently this one is pulling strings.” He nods over his shoulder at Jack while his thumbs fly across the touch screen.

 

“I’m just calling around to some people that owe me favors to see if we can get a dance floor and seating for fifty by tonight, maybe a tent...do we need a tent?”

 

“If we set up by the back carriage house then...” Ianto’s words are cut off as a bundle of white organza and lace barrels around the corner, smashing into him and hugging him so tightly he’s choking a bit. “Gwen.”

 

“Thank you.” She pulls away from him to wrap her arms around Jack and Rhys steps up into her spot, squeezing Ianto’s hand and maybe the looks on their face are going to be worth all this trouble.

 

They came up with a really great system for retconning large groups while Jack was gone, and the immortal man seems more amused by it than anything as he watches people line up to get back their personal belongings along with a tiny baggie with a dose of retcon.

 

“Just remember, these have a sedative quality to them, so make sure you’re somewhere you can lay down before you take it. You _must_ take it within the next hour to ensure you’re inoculated against any infectious pathogens. Call us at this number and ask for Doctor Harper tomorrow if you have any questions.” Ianto hands out two doses of retcon along with a blank business card embossed only with the number of a disposable mobile. The number of calls they get will let them know how many doses they’ll have to personally administer, but on average they only do two or three follow-ups. Most people are willing to take anything handed to them if they think it might prevent them from catching some kind of space disease.

 

“Well, this is a lot better than my champagne and carting unconscious bodies idea.” He mutters into Ianto's ear as the guests take their belongings and walks away.

 

“Didn’t I tell you insuring your tickets is never a waste of money? I swapped your flight time. It’s slightly inconvenient at one am but I talked them into a first class upgrade because of it.” Cheyenne comes around the corner of the hotel, hair pulled out of its ruined style and swept back into a tail dangling over one shoulder, freeing up her ear for the headset she’s already popped in, fingers flying over her Iphone as she steers Gwen and Rhys towards the car. “ Now drop that where it belongs,” She points at the Singularity scalpel, tucked back into its backpack and slung over Rhys' shoulder. “Let Owen do a full check on Gwen and get out of those clothes.” “Ianto already called the Langs, and they said if we got your tux over there by...what time honey?”

 

“If someone can bring it in before seven they can have it ready for you by noon tomorrow. So have it chucked in a rubbish bag and ready. Gwen, if you have the dress off and bagged, I’ll just drop it for regular service and you can donate it.” He turns back to the young ginger couple in front of him. “Someone will contact you in the morning at the number you gave us with the details of the new ceremony.” And it’s not going to be him, dammit.

 

“Okay.” Jack watched the last two guests kiss Gwen and Rhys and disappear off towards the parking lot. “Chy, the caterers are going to follow you back to the house and then these are for them.” He shakes an unmarked orange bottle. “Do you remember the doses?”

 

“Five to ten stone gets the white pills, Ten to fifteen get the yellow dose, fifteen to twenty-five gets the blue.” 

 

“There you go. Ianto has the follow up cards, so grab those from him. The dance floor and seating should arrive before we get back, but there’s no set up crew, so they’re just dropping it off. Wait for us before you start mucking about with, it’s a two or three person job just to unpack it. We’ll bring back dinner.” Jack drops a kiss on the top of her head as he walks past. “Ianto?”

 

“On my way sir.”

 

Rhys opens his mouth and pauses as if he’s desperately wanted to say something and thought better of it at the last minute. Gwen tucks her dress up around herself and flashes the keys in a farewell salute before climbing into the passenger seat, leaving Owen to climb into the back with a grumble. Ianto waves back and leans down, kissing Cheyenne and handing her the card case with the follow up numbers.

 

“Rhi’s bringing Indy at eleven so we have time to wrangle all the kids into the clothes.”

 

“I'll make sure the playroom downstairs is stocked up.” She kisses him again, a quick brush of her mouth. “All right, I’ll see you at home. Bring me some Thai or something spicy.”

 

By the time Jack has finished setting an unfortunate number of rooms on fire and then stood guard over the retconned bodies of the staff, spread out on the grass a safe distance away until the fire department can arrive, the day is almost gone. Ianto drives back because he doesn't think he can take another forty minute drive done in twenty today and drops Jack at the Hub long enough to swap the company truck for his own car, leaving the other man to double check everything while Ianto speeds across town to dump the ruined wedding clothes at the dry cleaners, grinning guiltily at the elderly woman as she lifts the alien blood spattered waistcoat from the black plastic with a frown. By the time he picks up dinner from their favorite Thai place, the cake from Sands since he’d already paid for it, and makes it back to the water tower, Jack's already waiting above ground with his phone to his ear, hopping in the car as soon as it stops at the curb.

 

“Yeah he did. Smells like enough satay for a football team, some pad Thai... she wants to know what else you’ve got.”

 

“All the stuff she likes and lots of beer.” He figured they may as well enjoy a night without Indiana that’s also at the start of the yearly lull in the rift cycle, particularly if they are going to be running around like maniacs all night trying to make miracles out of Torchwood fallout; something that seems to have become the ridiculous story of his life. They pull off and head out of town towards home, Ianto smirking as he listens to Jack's half of the conversation.

 

“Okay. Yes, beer. I don’t know what kind, the kind that gets you pissed if you drink enough of it, I suppose. Of course I think I’m funny, I always think I’m funny because I am. Hey, the amputee dolphin joke is _gold_ with the right audience. Mostly sailors in the nineteen-forties. Alright, I’m sure it’s perfect. No, I don’t need to see it because it’ll look great there and even if I hated it you wouldn’t move it anyway.” He looks at Ianto and rolls his eyes before flinching. “No, I’m not rolling my eyes. Well don’t bother sending it to us, we’ll see it when we get home and we’re on the way home now. Okay. _Okay_. Love you too.” Jack hangs up the phone with a groan. “Apparently she's been running around with her phone taking pictures of the grounds and mapping out seating arrangements for each option. Why does she even _have_ a CAD app?”

 

“Because she’s insane, and if you ask she’ll have some bizarre story involving animals and locations no one else ever encounters.” Jack laughs at Ianto's dry snark.

 

“Like having to design a bridge over a hippo infested river using only...oh, I dunno, vines and bricks with no holes.”

 

“Oh god, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Actually, Ianto's pretty sure he remembers a story involving an emergency re-rigging of her camp water delivery systems in India. “Is it wrong that her weirdest stories have nothing to do with Torchwood?”

 

“I call it refreshing. So anyway, she has a spot closer to the lake by the trees, a spot closer to the main house, and a spot on the back green by the carriage house.”

 

“You know you can’t talk about our house having a carriage house _and_ a back green. It makes me break out in a cold pretentious sweat.”

 

“Get over it. You live in a huge house. You have outbuildings, a good sized pond, and stables that Chy is thinking of getting a couple horses for.” He almost misses their exit staring at Jack instead of the road.

 

“ _Horses_? You're _not_ serious.” Jack makes a sheepish sound, sinking down into his seat.

 

“Oh, I thought she might have brought it up already.”

 

The food is still warm, but the sun is almost done edging down towards the horizon when Ianto whips the car onto the long drive leading up to the house. All the lights in the main part of the house are on, shining through the windows as Ianto pulls his Nissan into its spot next to her Honda. The front door is slung open and Ianto sticks his head out the driver’s window and just stops the car in front of the stairs.

 

“Chy! We’re home!”

 

“Quick, while there’s still light. Come look at this, because I think everything will look best set up over by the water.” At some point between getting home, supervising the delivery of several tons of wedding crap, and retconning the caterers, Cheyenne has found time to shower and change. Her hair is hanging down her back in one long braid, the end swinging lower than the frayed hems of the cut off shorts she’s pulled on. She doesn’t look thirty-one bouncing down the stairs in her plaid canvas trainers and one of his vests. If the way Jack is grinning is any indication, he knows Ianto is just getting the full implications of Indiana being at his sister’s for the first time without an emergency taking up their time. The rift alarm isn’t going to go off and set off Jack's wrist strap and every phone in the house. No one is going to wake up crying and shitty, and the only place he has to be tomorrow is his own house. True, he’s hosting an impromptu wedding, but the fact that nothing they mess up can make it worse than the first attempt takes a lot of the stress out of it.

 

“The one who can’t catch her, watches.”

 

“Hell yes!” Ianto doesn’t even turn off the car, throwing it into park and hurling himself out of the car, sliding over the hood to make up for the fact that he, unlike Jack, has to go around.

 

“Whoops!” Chy doesn’t hesitate, pivoting in place and disappearing back into the house with a yelp. Jack’s got the head start on him, feet crashing against the stairs almost half a length ahead of Ianto, but Cheyenne is heading for the kitchen and through that the back yard, cornering tightly as she tries to use the archways and furniture to put enough space between them that when she reaches the flat open expanse of lawn they’re still going to have to stretch their much longer legs to catch her. Jack is matching her move for move, weaving in and out of rooms, trying to tire her out, but Ianto veers left, dropping his jacket in the library as he cuts through the back hall towards the guest room. The slick gray slate floors echoes his footsteps until he lets himself out the side door onto the side lawn, crouched near the corner of the house. Unless Cheyenne trips over something, Jack isn’t catching her in the house and if he’s right she’s going to come out of the kitchen door and break to the left, towards the long stretch of lawn and the little forest of trees that stretches across half their land.

 

The slam of the kitchen door comes just in time, buying her another moment of space between her and Jack. Her trainers smack rhythmically against the flagstones making up the path around the house, drawing almost even with him at full speed.

 

“She’s armed Ianto!” Jack’s shout comes as soon as the door slams back open, and still entirely too late for Ianto who jumps out and catches a face full of water from the barrel of a bright orange two quid water pistol.

 

“Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!” She squirts him a second time as he coughs, tossing a third shot over her shoulder in Jack’s direction and haring off exactly the way he knew she would, towards the trees. The substantial lead he would have had on Jack is gone, but he’s still half a length ahead and gaining as the immortal man growls behind him. “Can’t catch me!”

 

Despite barely coming in at five foot four, Cheyenne has years of high school and college track that say she’s deceptively fast and she’s flying now. If there wasn’t close to a foot of difference between he and Jack and her, most of it in their legs, it would be an entirely different game trying to catch her. As it is, he’s stretching full out to catch up and if Jack had bothered ditching his coat in the house he’d be neck and neck with Ianto.

 

Much like he is right now, laughing as he undoes the buttons on his cuffs, great coat crumpled in the grass behind them.

 

“Ready to give up?” If he’s breathless, it’s from laughing.

 

“Ready to cheat.” He reaches over before Jack can do more than look confused and snaps the red suspenders as hard as he can. If he had the breath to spare, he’d cackle over the way the other man winces and stumbles. “All’s fair, yadda yadda.”

 

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy beating you.”

 

***

 

Ianto catches her in the end, dodging in and out of young trees, to snag the end of her swinging braid in his fist and slowing just enough for her to feel the jerk without coming off her feet. He catches her arm as she slows, using their momentum to pivot her until Cheyenne is pinned face first against the tree, trapped between his body and the solid trunk of a young oak, hands pressed against the bark above her head as she pants.

 

“Caught you.” She whines deep in her throat on the exhale when Ianto leans into her, rolling his hips against hers; using her braid as a handle to tug her head back, sinking his teeth into the side of her throat and regretfully reminding himself that almost anything Cheyenne wears tomorrow will show any marks he leaves on her tonight. “Didn’t I, baby?” Her back arches as he kicks her ankles apart, shoving her vest up around her arms and dropping down to his knees to suck a bruise to the surface of the skin at the base of her spine just under her tattoo while his fingers blindly work to open her belt. From the corner of his eye, Ianto can see Jack leaning against a nearby birch, the smirk in his eye threatening to spoil the pout on his lips as he rubs the heel of his hand along the front of his trousers leisurely.

 

“Yeah.” There’s a growl under the breathy little agreement as Ianto digs his fingers into the sides of her shorts and yanks them down in one fast pull, jerking her backward and off balance as he tugs them off and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. She’s already wet enough when he slides his fingers between her legs that he presses them inside in one long smooth glide that leaves her begging and cursing loud enough to scare a tiding of magpies out of a nearby tree, scolding the three of them as they take to the sky. He pumps his hand, soaking up the sounds she’s making and loving that this is his life. Head on the edge of swimming, pleasantly dizzy with exertion, on his knees with the deep thick scents of sex and moss in his nose, Jack and Cheyenne painted in gold and dappled in gray by the setting sun through the trees.

 

Jack pushes lazily off his tree with a roll of his shoulders, braces swaying around his legs as he stalks across the soft ground to slump next to Cheyenne against their tree. There's barely a breath’s worth of space between them as Jack reaches up and wraps the hand not indulgently stroking himself around a branch over her head.

 

“You’re going to push the definition of watching, aren’t you Jack?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just watching.” He rests his head on the curve of his arm, grinning filthily as he locks eyes with Chy. “Keeping my hands strictly to myself.” Technically, it’s true and besides, it’s hot watching the two of them close enough that her shuddering breath has to be whispering against Jack’s mouth.

 

“Should probably give you something to watch then.” The disappointed whine from the back of Cheyenne’s throat as he stands sends a hot jolt of want through Ianto. Jack too if the way his eyes widen is any indication. Ianto rips at his trousers, fumbling them open and really, open is good enough, but this angle is not because Chy is entirely too small to take from behind when they’re both on their feet. She locks her ankles behind him when he spins her, hitching her up in his arms and slamming into her hard enough that Cheyenne grabs for the same branch Jack is gripping.

 

“Come on Darlin’, fuck me.”

 

Not something he has to be asked twice for when she’s already making sharp sweet sounds with every hard thrust driving her back against the bark. It’s quick and fierce and so damn good, the way she’s clenched around him, not bothering to muffle a single sound she’s making and Jack groaning low in his throat as he matches Ianto’s pounding rhythm with his fist.

 

Ianto pants against her neck, crooning his mother tongue in her ear, because a linguist is always a linguist even when she's fucking and hearing the thick rumble of his native Welsh in her ear still gets her off as much as it did the first time. When she comes, it's with a choked little noise, a cry cut off by Jack's mouth on hers. A violation of the 'no touching' rule that was stupid anyway because this is how he loves them, entangled and falling apart at the seams; Cheyenne locked down tight and wet around him, the clench of Jack's fingers on the nape of his neck as the immortal man presses against him and spills hot and slick against the cut of Ianto's thigh and the curve of Cheyenne's ass, yanking him along behind them.

 

"Jesus, why is it always me lately!? There is no God! My bloody eyes!" They almost topple over in a tangle on the moss trying to turn at once to see Gwen bright red with one hand over her eyes, the other holding her mobile to her ear. "Yes, I bloody well found them, fucking in the woods at the top of their lungs like a bunch of naked savages. I hate you, all of you. These three for leaving the car parked crooked still running, and the house flung wide open like they were under attack, and you three for not finding them instead!"

 

He and Jack have left a trail of ties and shirts in their wake, scattered across the lawn and among the moss growing between the roots of the fledgling wood, so he can hardly imagine Gwen followed them and didn't have the slightest clue what she'd find at the end, but the panic behind her eyes, fading into an amused sort of anger is too sharp to be anything but genuine as Ianto scrambles to hitch his trousers back up over his arse.

 

"You three inutterable _bastards_ scared the hell out of us! We come over to help with the bloody set up and find the car thrown into park still running with the bloody lights on, all the doors in the house standing open, tipped furniture, and Jack's coat in the middle of the lawn! So we split up looking for you, because _that_ one!" Ianto's not sure who Gwen's pointing at because her eyes are still covered and her finger is aimed somewhat to the left of all of them. "Sounds like they're being murdered!" That could still conceivably be any of them. "And I come around the corner ready to shoot and all I see is Ianto's glowing white arse pumping away in the gloom!"

 

"Oops." He likes to think he could have kept it together in deference to Gwen’s obvious distress if Cheyenne hadn't picked that moment to lose the battle with the giggles and laugh so hard she snorts. It's a cascading effect, the three of them falling against each other in their mirth as Gwen stomps her feet on the moss and grass in frustration.

 

"You are all utterly shameless! Whoever is searching the house, make me a drink. A strong one." She spins on her heel, stomping off towards the house, and Ianto lets his face drop down into the sweaty crook of Cheyenne's neck with a guffaw

 

"I'm going to start charging them for the entertainment. At the rate we get walked in on, twenty quid a peek and I can send Indy to University on that alone."

 

"I'll pay for college if they just learn to knock or holler...something. Let me down and help me find my shorts before it gets too dark to see them."

 

It's already too dark to find black plaid shorts in the shadows of the trees. Cheyenne ends up walking back to the house with the tails of Jack's shirt swinging a couple inches above her knees. Everyone has made themselves comfortable on the patio by the time they make it across the field, sprawled on loungers and gliding swings with drinks in their hands and the food spread out on the table nearby.

 

"I've been eating your satay while Gwen recovers from her _fifth_ walk in this year." Owen lifts a bottle pilfered from the fridge in salute. "To Gwen! In twenty-four hours she's gotten knocked up by an alien, has to redo her entire wedding overnight, caught the three of you preforming unspeakable acts, and _still_ she keeps coming back for more!"

 

"Oh, that kind of toast deserves better than beer." Jack goes over to the mini bar on the far side of the deck and leans over it, bare back covered in scratches from the tree bark that are healing as he moves, unlike the ones on Ianto's arms where he held Cheyenne up off the tree. Jack makes a pleased little hum deep in his chest before brandishing a thick green bottle over his head. "Jamisons! Ianto?"

 

"On it." He'd never really understood people who had so many sets of dishware before he moved in with a woman who entertains like he's only seen on the telly. At last count they have seven different sets of everyday dishes that he knows all cost too much money just for plates and another three formal sets that each serve twenty-five. Even as part of him thinks it's ridiculous, the rest of him loves knowing the cabinet near the patio doors is stocked with enough plates and glasses to keep him from running back and forth to the kitchen every time they end up hosting one of these impromptu Torchwood invasions. He dithers in the doorway, thinking about running up the stairs long enough to change his trousers and throw on something other than a vest but can't be bothered in the end. Not when Jack has yet to do anything more for modesty than zip the fly on his trousers, Cheyenne is perched casually on the edge of the glider like she's not running around in only Jack's shirt, and Rhys is the only one who hasn't actually walked in on them having sex. He shrugs to himself and stacks a nearby tray with enough place settings for everyone, sliding back out of the door. "Glasses and plates."

 

"I'll get the ice." Tosh pops up and is half in the freezer before Ianto has the tray settled to the table. She knocks the bucket against the hardwood table hard enough to separate the chunks that have frozen together, passing each one around as soon as Jack fills it.

 

"There!” He tops off the last two and hands one to Tosh with a wink, lifting the other one high. “To Gwen and Rhys, may you be my only Torchwood wedding this century because I don't think I can do this a third time." He winces as Cheyenne lashes her foot out, smacking him in the calf with the top of her foot as she lifts her own double shot.

 

"Don't be a bag of dicks, baby. To Gwen and Rhys, may tomorrow be everything today was supposed to have been."

 

"That's a good one. I'll drink to that before the rest of these jokers chime in." Rhys leans across his new wife and taps his tumbler to hers, lifting it to his lips and swallowing deeply.

 

***

 

_epilogue_

 

There's nothing about six am that makes Cheyenne happy about rolling out of bed less than three hours after she crawled into it. The alarm clock next to the bed is going off, music aggressively loud, but apparently not loud enough to wake Jack or Ianto. The air in the room is already hot despite the early hour since something in the Rift's ebb skews the weather towards dry and unseasonably warm and Chy steps over the puddle of blankets that have been kicked off the bed, padding naked and hot to throw open the balcony doors in their room. From the open doorway she can see the rising sun turning the white faux marble of the dance floor pink and peach.

 

“Girl, get back in bed, I'm still tired.” Jack doesn't bother lifting his head, just slings his arm off the bed and gropes at the air in her general direction despite the fifteen feet of carpeting separating them.

 

“You _must_ be tired, because you know _exactly_ how I feel about you just calling me 'girl', dipshit.” He's smirking at her, hair flopped into his bright blue eyes as Jack scrubs his face sleepily into the pillow before snuggling closer to Ianto who snores once, loudly, and flops over onto his stomach. “Up! We are less than ten hours from Gwen walking down the proverbial aisle in our backyard. We have a reception to finish putting together, Rhiannon will be here with the kids...” Ianto comes awake with a suddenness that has Jack rolling off the bed with a squawk to avoid the Welshman's flailing limbs, yanking for sheets that aren't there without opening his eyes.

 

“I'm up! Be right there!” It's obvious from the way he's listing to the left, eyes still shut as he gropes for blankets that have spent the majority of the morning on the floor that Ianto is still very much asleep, reacting on auto-pilot to the combination of his sister's name and the word children. Cheyenne scoops up one of the sheets from the floor and drops it across his legs where his grasping fingers can yank it up around his hips.

 

“Your sister isn't here yet sweetheart.”

 

“Oh. Good.” He doesn't lay back down so much as let himself tumble to the side with a sleepy snort, already back under before he's made it flat. Jack doesn't bother getting up, just propping his elbow on the edge of the mattress and resting his chin on his palm and grinning at where Ianto's got only the corner of the sheet thrown high across his stomach, the rest pooled on the bed beside him.

 

“We should probably let him sleep a bit longer. Come on, we'll run downtown, pick up breakfast, and you can tell me all about it while I baffle over the fact that I let you talk me into doing this all over again at our home on the only week off I ever get.” The rest of the sheet flutters down over Ianto's hips as Jack gets to his own feet with a groan, dropping it over their sleeping lover before he stretches long and hard.

 

“Well put some clothes on before you go looking for the keys. Three of our guest rooms are full right now and I cannot listen to Owen's 'oh my eyes, why are your balls on display' shriek at five past six.”

 

“I do love that you think Owen not only shrieks, but has a _special_ shriek reserved just for seeing my scrotum.” She follows Jack as he pads into the closet, yanking on a threadbare pair of Levi's that she wouldn't be surprised to find out are at least as old as Ianto. “Also, we were drinking until almost four. Owen won't get out of bed until I go in there and literally kick him out of it.”

 

“Oh, please let me try something else first, because I cannot take a morning of angry Owen on top of getting everyone dressed without getting in Magda's way, while setting up.” She's wiggling into a pair of jeans that Jack thinks were probably Ianto's a very long time ago, folding the legs into wide, thick cuffs three times before they stop trailing down over her toes and yanking the first spaghetti strapped tank top she puts her hand on over her head. “Have you seen my little rainbow suspenders?”

 

“Nope, want a pair of mine?” Jack certainly doesn't need them when the battered, age whitened denim he's wearing is clinging to him. She brandishes a red pair she's already plucked out of the top drawer on Jack's side of the island dresser. “So, Magda's coming?”

 

“Yeah, at two and a half times her normal rate since it's party prep with less than twenty-four hours’ notice, but she's bringing her boys with her to help with the set up. You didn't think _I_ was cleaning all the bathrooms today did you?” Jack laughs at the wry twist to her voice, yanking an undershirt on and pressing his lips to the side of her head.

 

“Kiddo, I _never_ imagine you cleaning the toilet. Ever. I'm not sure you know what a toilet brush looks like.”

 

“Of course I do. It's round and gross looking, as befits something that goes in the can. Don't forget to let these back out before you put them on.” She snaps the braces into place and spins, frowning critically into the mirror. “I look like a clam digger.”

 

“It's in next season, and if it isn't someone will see you and it _will_ be. Come on.” Jack wraps himself around her. “You look adorable and there is pie down at the diner. Pie for breakfast.”

 

“Oh you bastard, you know I'm often felled by pie for breakfast.” Jack does know actually, because the woman in his arms is a fiend for pies and is not above occasionally having blueberry ones flown in from overseas for no reason other than wanting an American made blueberry pie. “Come on, let's sneak out. It's funnier that way.”

 

They _do_ sneak out just because they can, snickering under their breaths and running barefooted across the floors, carrying their shoes in their hands as they skid across the floors to the door. She tangles her fingers in his, taking off barefooted across grass and the smoothly polished pebbles making up the gravel drive and yanking him wide around their vehicles to where Owen's sportscar is blocking them in.

 

“Wanna steal Owen's car?” He can't help himself, not when Cheyenne's already grinning up at him, bright eyed and eager.

 

“Oh my God, I've never actually been in a stolen car before. Yes!” It's seconds work to use his vortex manipulator to bypass the electronic locks, not much longer than that again to have the wrist strap connected to the steering column below the ignition and the engine purring quietly. Cheyenne grips his thigh firmly, nails a blunt pressure through the denim, feet kicking with excitement when Jack whips the cherry red Maserati around in a tight spin and takes off down the long winding driveway entirely too fast. “Owen's going to be so _mad_!”

 

***

 

They sit side by side at the counter, knees pressed together as they work their way through a full half of a blueberry pie. Jack's already shoveled more than half of it in and Cheyenne seems determined to keep him from making inroads into the rest of her half, rapping the back of his knuckles with her sticky blue tined fork.

 

“Quit it! We shouldn't be eating this anyway because we're going to be in a good half dozen photo sets and you and I are going to be the only purple stained people there.”

 

“It's fine. Purple is one of Gwen's bloody colors, it'll be good. Tie us in with the wedding party.” Jack licks the blue jelly from the back of his knuckles and Chy hooks her ankle with his, thumping her shoulders into his as she reminds him that Gwen's colors are red, not purple. The woman behind the counter watches them disapprovingly as she packs the piles of breakfasts into large paper bags. They've been in Lisvane a little less than nine months now, long enough for a couple of the more gossip prone members of the village to make a few educated guesses at what may or may not go on up the lane. “So, what do you think, whose team is she on?” Cheyenne covers her mouth as she tries not to snicker at Jack's low utterance.

 

“Easy one, just look at her. That's an evil glower for _both_ of us. She's team Ianto all the way. He's the adorable, polite native son and here we are, easy and American, running around together behind his back eating _pie_. Pie that's going to have us both scrubbing at our teeth four or five times today before we can get our pictures taken.” The plate slides across the counter out of Jack's reach as he starts to stretch out his hand. “No! No more pie for you. The rest is for Indy. Come on, we've got to get back. It's half past already.” The woman boxes up the generous slice of pie still left with a sour grimace on her face, lips pinched shut as she sets the bags with elaborate care in front of them. Cheyenne smiles cheerfully at the woman as she hands over her credit card, plucking up the tiny bag with the pie while Jack gathers up the rest of the food before sliding her wallet back into her pocket and waving as she slips out the door. “I love it when people who don't like me have to be polite to me.”

 

“You're a little sick sometimes Dr. Morgan.”

 

“Please. I see your face when you have to shut someone down. It's not just me, it _totally_ gets you off.” Owen's car alarm chirps as Jack hacks it again. Cheyenne's almost lost under the pile of paper bags as they pile them into her lap, high enough that her eyes barely peep through the twisted handles. “Hurry up, I've got to be back on the road soon and we've got a lot to get done.”

 

***

 

Ianto's sitting cross legged on the wide stone railing at the top of the stairs, hair rumpled and still unshaven when they whip the cherry red sports car back up the driveway entirely too fast, spraying gravel out into the lawn as Jack fishtails it with a laugh loud enough to be heard with the windows down before slotting it in neatly next to his own truck. The stone steps are already starting to lose the faint chill of night as Ianto pads down them.

 

“You stole Owen's car?”

 

“I did. Chy had apparently never been for a ride in a stolen car before, plus he'd blocked us all in.” Jack isn't the least bit repentant as he comes around the back of the car in age faded denim and starts unburying the woman in the passenger seat from beneath the piles of food.

 

“Well, _allegedly_ there's not much that's as fun as speeding in a stolen car.” He grins as Jack frowns exasperatedly at him, reaching forward and taking half the bags. “You didn't really think it would be that easy.”

 

“One of these days you're going to have to admit to it or explain how the rumor got started.” The bags in his arms smell deliciously of breakfast from the pub.

 

“You keep telling yourself that. You got me waffles, right?”

 

They all pile onto the deck in the back, curling up half awake around steaming mugs of coffee. Gwen's snuggled up on Rhys' lap, hair mussed and makeup smearing under her grinding palm as she yawns and scrubs at her eyes.

 

“Right, so how are we doing this?” A smile crosses her face as Ianto fishes his iPhone out of his sweatpants. “Of course you've got lists. Whatever would we do without you, pet?”

 

“Flounder in your combined inadequacy I imagine.” He grins at her, flicking through screens as he cuts his waffles into triangles along the ridges. “All the flowers are sitting down in the wine cellar in water so those should be good and I've got the number of a floral wholesaler in the area just in case something needs fluffing or what not. We've got the cake down there as well in one of the fridges. The dance floor looks great but we're going to have to double check that and the arbor because we'd started our second bottle by the time we reassembled it, but I'm sure it's fine. Seating all has to be set up from scratch, tables and chairs for the reception, chairs for the ceremony...” He blows out a long breath. “It's going to be a full fucking day ladies and gentlemen. But, we've got backup coming in. My sister and her husband will be here around eleven, the housekeeper will be here at eight-thirty with her two sons to add to the work force.”

 

“Sounds about right. I'll try to get back here as soon as I can without getting arrested.”

 

“Hope everyone's got their phones because I've got duty rosters that I'm sending out...now.” Owen groans despite the mouthful of food as he flops backwards in his seat.

 

“Fuck you and your duty roster. My arm and I are done in on the heavy shite side of things, thanks.”

 

“Which is why you and Tosh are in charge of dry goods. Gwen and Rhys, you're on the phones. I sent you the new details. We moved your time back from two to four though. Start with your vendors please, see how many are able to reset for today, who they can recommend if they can't, that sort of thing. I made a worksheet, just fill it out. Start as soon as you can, send any cancellations over to Cheyenne and she'll deal with those while she's in town running down the linens and flatware.”

 

“Okay!” Jack comes jogging out of the kitchen looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “Just got off the phone with the UNIT training post in Bristol. Charlie's got herself a squad she thinks has earned a break, so she's sending over fifteen grunts for slave labor and security, they'll be here about the time Magda is.”

 

“Oh good. Well that should cut at least an hour and a half off my finish times. Excellent. Also, you should eat faster because our housekeeper is a tyrant and if you're not out of the shower before she gets to the loo she _will_ start cleaning with you in there.”

 

***

 

Gwen takes her father's arm, taking in a deep steadying breath. She's standing in the doorway of the little boathouse on the edge of the pond in a long white sheath, hair tumbled down around her face. The gloves are gone, but her arm is pulled up in a white lace shawl tied like a sling. As far as the guests know she hurt it yesterday in the fire that interrupted the ceremony.

 

“You do have some rather helpful friends, don't you duckling?”

 

“I'm lucky some days, yeah.” Her father reaches forward and grips the door handle.

 

“This is it then. Are you ready?” Through the window Gwen can see the long white runner spread across the grass leading towards a long sunny stretch of grass running down to the water's edge. At the end Rhys is waiting for her and she can see him grinning from here as the music begins to play.

 

“Oh yes. I'm well past ready.”

 

 

 

 

_fins_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: And...we're done! "Jack and Indy's big day out (don't tell mummy about the weevil)" which takes place during the same week as ASF will be out at some point within the next couple weeks, but after that there will be nothing new in the Blocking Verse until probably October/November because I have a full plate this summer with a couple Big Bangs and the RS games, all of which run all summer long and start posting in October. The good news is that if you're a fan of Supernatural or Harry Potter you can expect at least 20k words for the[ **deancasbigbang**](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/), a couple thousand of black comedy Marauders for the
> 
>   
> [ **rs_games** ](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/)   
> 
> 
> , and a sequel to Ianto Jones' thoughts on life, Death, and Summer squash for the
> 
>   
> [ **longliveianto** ](http://longliveianto.livejournal.com/)   
> 
> 
> bigbang all to drop around the same time in the beginning of October. Plus I'm trying to get a bingo since ****  
> [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)  
>  going on hiatus for a break after the summer, so I'm going to try and get a legit bingo and not just an amnesty post. Between all that plus mommying and working overtime (trying to save up to get to Boston Comiccon) I've got nothing left for The Sky is Falling/Sleeper until fall. Which is a shame, because the fluff is done and it's time for things to start going wrong again. It's going to be fun. Huge thanks as always to czarina_kitty for polishing my work and removing my random caps without picking on me for them. Also, a special hi to my neighbor Jen. I have dedicated 'Inutterable' to her since that is her word for when I'm behaving terribly. I'm still not sorry about it. ^u^ 


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